


Spite and Normalcy

by venus_ink



Series: Spite and Normalcy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Character Bashing, Dark Magic, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Good Petunia Dursley, Good Petunia Evans, Grey Harry Potter, Happy Harry Potter, Harry Potter Has a Twin, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Heirs and Heiresses, Homosexuality, M/M, Multi, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 133,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22134190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venus_ink/pseuds/venus_ink
Summary: Here we arrive in a world where the Potters had two children rather than one, and Petunia's quest for normalcy didn't leave her married to Vernon Dursley. When Lavinia Potter is reluctantly sent to Petunia for the safety of her twin brother Oliver, the elder of the Evans sisters feels a connection to the rejected child, and her wish to one-up Lily returns in the form of raising her child to become the best she could be. Lavinia Potter comes to Hogwarts ready to take it by storm, with an aunt who loves her, a lifetime of preparation, the happiness to make it, and the guts to get it done.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Petunia Evans/surprise
Series: Spite and Normalcy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694632
Comments: 854
Kudos: 4265
Collections: Long Fics to Binge, Pyrdiu's Literatureblock, Storycatchers' pile of magical stories from the world of Harry Potter, The Harry Potters





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is my best attempt at changing only a few things and letting the story run as it would, in my best approximation of canon. In this case, those changes are a Petunia Evans with character development, and a second child sent away while James and Lily live. Will be updated often, but not on a schedule. I hope you enjoy!!

Petunia Evans had lived her whole life so far, or at least since age eight or so, with one goal: to be as normal as possible. To blend in with the most neutral of crowds until she would never have to worry about standing out, and the way she walked, the way she talked, the way she existed would come naturally as perfectly average. 

This may have seemed like a strange choice for such a young girl to make, but a view inside the Evans household would make everything clear. Mr. and Mrs. Evans had been perfectly normal for years, with him working a rather good job in sales and her having become a school teacher as soon as her daughters were old enough not to need her constant care. The daughters went to a rather nice school in London, St. Mary’s, and everything went quite normally.

They would rise for school in the morning, Petunia generally taking the initiative of waking her sister so that the younger girl wouldn’t sleep right through first hour, and they would take the school bus at exactly seven-forty-five and get to school at eight o’clock for the eight-fifteen bell. They went through their day, meeting again to eat lunch at the same table, and then ride the same bus home at two-fifteen, where they would watch the telly until Mrs. Evans got home at three-thirty and made them work on their course work.

Petunia had loved it.

Then everything changed.

Suddenly Lily was making strange things happen. Their teacher’s hair turned blue as soon as Lily was upset at her, toys would float around their house, the strange boy down the street taught her how to make flowers blossom and reverse in her palm. And suddenly, their family was no longer normal.

Mr. and Mrs. Evans, with their deep love all things that were interesting and quirky, latched on to the idea of magic or magical powers, impressed above all that their lovely daughter was blessed with them. Their perfect, gorgeous, magical daughter. In their eyes, the girl could do no wrong. And at first, Petunia had been the same way. She was amazed, if a bit envious, of her sister’s abilities, and was all too ready to help her develop them. She had dreams of helping her sister achieve her dreams while she achieved her own, and when Lily came home from doing whatever her magic thing was, she would hug her older sister and they would sit down with tea to talk about everything.

All that happened in reality was that, suddenly, the girls’ parents couldn’t give their older child the time of day. It was always Lily, Lily, Lily, no matter what. Hell, the only times they really even talked to Petunia was to tell her about the amazing things Lily had done that day. Things which Petunia already knew about as it was. 

But Lily sucked it all up like a sponge, every ounce of their parents approval and affection and favoritism, even if they would never admit it. She waltzed around like every place was her castle, and, just like all the kings and queens they learned about in history class, forgot about the peasants she left in the dust. And even so, even with everything she had at home, she spent all her time with the boy down the road, because _he_ had magic, too- magic Petunia couldn’t have.

When they were at school, Lily was known for the strange things she did, and though some revered her for it, most just found it a bit strange. Lily, too tied up with that boy, was oblivious to it all, as the children who didn’t find her powers god-given were a bit better at subtlety. But Petunia noticed. She noticed that she was known as the sister of the strange girl, and that, as much as she tried to stand up for her sister, over and over, Lily would never do the same for her, not even when that boy had dropped a rather sizeable tree branch on her head. 

Petunia didn’t like this new routine one bit. It was unpredictable, unfair, and unrelatable to other children- the furthest thing from normal she could imagine. She never knew what was coming next in this type of life, and the only constant was the rejection from her parents and her classmates. She was overcome with a longing for the _normal_ , the common, the type of beauty that everyone saw and the type of ugliness everyone went through together.

So, with all the certainty of the eight year old girl she was, she decided that she would do something else with her time, something worthwhile. She wasn’t certain enough to give up her own passions or success, but she was certain enough to be average at the strange things, and good at the normal things.

She went to school with a new vigor and got good grades, even better than before- good enough to stand out at a normal thing, but not good enough to be strange. Once she stopped forcing her relationship with her sister, it faded to nearly nonexistent, and she let it. The other children didn’t pick on her anymore, and she found some rather nice and quite smart but overall average friends to do perfectly normal nice things with. They would talk about their lives and school and tell silly jokes and go ice skating in winter and go to the park in the summer and have normal types of fun that she could tell other people about.

She kept up her love of reading, and the friends she had found shared that love, and so, to them, she was still perfectly normal. She got better at riding her bike and swimming in the lake until she was passably average in every normal activity, and when Lily came home from her stupid special school, Petunia would do her best to never be home. Because normal children didn’t just stay home all the time in the summer, and normal children didn’t talk about their sibling’s magic. She had transferred with her friends to St. Margaret’s for girls for secondary school, and it was all too easy to give a vague explanation that she didn’t get along too well with her family, and suddenly she didn’t have to be around as her parents gushed to her about how perfect Lily was, and Lily gushed about her weird school and the weird subjects they took.

Petunia wasn’t weird. She simply didn’t belong with Lily anymore. 

She got into quite a few universities and chose the good but average one from which she was offered a scholarship, and split her major between business and English, figuring it was most important to be able to find a job, but almost as important to learn what she loved. When she graduated, she settled in a pretty but average townhouse that looked just like all the others on the street, and decorated it exactly as she saw in her friends’ and neighbors’ houses. She worked a well paying but perfectly average secretarial job at a pleasant company, and she dated the nice but average men she met around town or knew from school.

She knew she would never be _perfect_ and _special_ like Lily, but she could be normal. She could be perfectly, specially normal, the way Lily would never get to. 

In that way, it was the only thing her sister would never get to have. With her magic, she would always be special, and she would always be- and feel- superior in a world of people without it. In her world, she would still never experience that beautiful anonymity, not when she was drop dead gorgeous, top of her class, and married to a member of the magical one percent.

Petunia had latched onto that feeling of perfect normality, and she still hadn't let go. She had given up a long time ago on trying to one-up her sister- even in such a roundabout way- but that didn't mean she had forgotten her entire childhood.

So now, when her sister arrived at her door, announcing that her daughter hadn't accomplished as much by age one as her son and therefore had no place in her home, Petunia wished desperately to hate the little girl. Just like her mother, this one was. Another Evans girl with the magic she herself would never have. She’d probably grow up to be as self-centered as her mother, not to mention as beautiful, if the carbon copy of Lily’s eyes were anything to go by. And yet...

She felt a sort of connection to the child. 

That wasn’t to say she was in any way enthusiastic, however. Petunia didn't want a child. She had never wanted any. That was the one part of her plan that she would never change, even for the sake of normality. Children were just… ugh. They were loud, and they cried all the time and spit up all over everything, and Petunia would have sworn that if she was ever seen near a child that she had been replaced by a government agent.

But her sister was giving the child up. Her little, perfect sister saw this girl and wanted to give her away. She would keep her son, but get rid of her daughter. It was appalling!

Petunia didn’t quite understand the situation. Lily had given her no prior information- in fact, they hadn’t spoken in years- and what she had told her now was as confusing as it was vague. All she had gotten from Lily and James’s ramblings was that their son, Oliver, had defeated… _someone_ , and he was the most famous person in their version of Britain. He was to be hailed as some sort of hero, and this meant that they had no room in their home (or their hearts, thought Petunia bitterly) for their daughter.

There was a sort of kinship that came with rejection. When she looked at the baby girl in the little carrier, she couldn't help but see herself. She had to wonder if Lily saw any connection to their own past, but she doubted it. It was hard to see the struggles of others when you were the one on top.

"So…?" came Lily's expectant tone, breaking her from her thoughts.

Petunia shook her head to clear her mind. "Fine," she said finally. "I'll raise her. You'll be back for her when she's thirteen so she can go to _your_ school, you say?"

Lily nodded, James doing the same while adding, "Assuming she is a witch."

Petunia frowned and set her coffee down. "You don't know?"

"Well, no," Lily admitted, glancing around uncertainly. "I mean, there's no reason to believe she'd be a squib, but obviously there's always a chance. Oliver’s done accidental magic, of course, but she hasn’t, though that’s entirely normal for a child so young."

"So, if she's not?" Petunia asked. "If she's not a witch? When she turns thirteen, will you be here?"

James and Lily shared a rather lost look, as though this was something they had never thought of, which stirred a feeling in Petunia that was almost offended. Perhaps she had expected more planning, more details, from someone giving up their child. Perhaps she had expected that such a huge decision would involve consideration of every factor, every thought out hypothetical, every single piece of the puzzle assembled before taking such a huge step. Perhaps she had simply assumed incorrectly. 

"I suppose we'll have to see how things are in our world," James stumbled over eventually.

Petunia raised a brow slightly toward her sister.

"It would be very dangerous for her if she is a squib," Lily rushed to explain. "Being so close to her brother, what with the reporters, and I'm sure the attacks, and it would be dangerous around Oliver to have that type of liability-"

It was only years of hiding her emotions that kept Petunia from flinching as if she had been physically struck. 

Her own baby, a liability? Sure, she could kind of see why it would be dangerous; apparently there would be very angry, very deadly people coming after Oliver, and she wouldn't have the magic to protect herself. But little Oliver wouldn't be able to protect himself against terrorists either, so what would really be the difference? 

Luckily, it seemed that Lily had also realized she was better off not continuing that line of thought.

Petunia smiled tightly and turned to the baby girl in her little carrier, the safest option in the room as she found herself unable to bear looking at her sister. _Liability_ . _Honestly_.

"Hello, little one," she said softly. "I'm your Auntie Petunia."

The baby just giggled, reaching out a tiny hand to the sharp woman. 

Her smile came naturally this time. "You want up?" she asked, holding out her arms. She lifted the little girl onto her hip, wincing as she immediately knotted her tiny fingers into her locks.

James, who had begun fidgeting with his sweater quite some time ago, spoke up. "If that's all…"

Petunia met his gaze. "We haven't yet discussed child support. I'm barely out of university," she added, glancing between their confused and indignant expressions. "Maybe it works differently in your world, but I don't have the money or even the opportunity for the money to raise this child properly. I don't plan to leave her alone all day while I work three jobs."

That certainly wouldn’t appear normal to her friends and colleagues. Actually, none of this would. She groaned internally. God, how was she ever to explain this?

"No, no, of course not," Lily agreed, sending a sharp glance at her husband. "Five thousand monthly?"

" _Galleons_?" James burst, his eyes bugging out.

"Pounds," Lily replied, rolling her eyes fondly. 

"That's like…?"

"Four hundred and eighty galleons," she answered after brief calculation. James nodded.

"That works for me. I suppose I won't be receiving a check?" she couldn't help but sneer.

"I can set you up a vault at Gringotts- that's our bank," James offered. "I can just transfer the galleons a month to it. You can come by Diagon and get it exchanged. The Goblins don't charge for exchanges."

"It's that _hard_ to just send a check?" she sighed, resigned to the wizard’s inevitable answer.

"The Potter estate has enough vaults to manage as it is, I don't need one at a Muggle bank," James sneered back.

"Then I want five hundred of your ridiculous coins," she decided. It was nonnegotiable. If he wanted to be as much of a pain her arse as possible, she could at least make sure it cost him. "I'll be visiting your bank within the next few days then; I'll have to set up a nursery and all that," Petunia announced, keeping her tone professional so that she wouldn't snap.

"Of course."

Petunia stood, signifying the end of that particular meeting. Her sister and her husband seemed all too grateful to get out of her _normal_ house.

“Now what to do with you, you little brat?” she murmured, a smile peeking out through her thoughtful frown.

And the baby began to cry.

“Oh goddammit,” she cursed. “I need Yvonne.”

The good thing about being perfectly average was that many of her perfectly average friends had taken the traditional route and settled down with husbands and babies in little white picket fence type houses not too far from where she lived. They would know what to do with the baby. At least she had a place to start.

Grabbing her phone off the kitchen counter with her free hand, as the other was attempting to rock a baby to sleep, she dialed her friend. “Yvonne?” she said, as soon as the other woman picked up. “I need you to come over. No, it’s a rather long story. A funny one, too, I’m sure, or it will be in five or ten or a hundred years…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finish up Petunia's first day with Lavinia, and we get a glimpse of the early childhood our heroine is given.

She hadn’t thought to lock the door after Lily and James’s hasty departure, so, looking back, Petunia really shouldn’t have been nearly as startled as she was when she spun the baby around and came up face to face with Yvonne.

She had to bite her lip to keep from shrieking as she almost dropped the child in her arms. She had been on edge since the moment she had opened the door to find her sister, and another surprise was the very last thing she needed. When she was sure the child was secure on her hip, she reached over to wrap an arm around her friend. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” she said earnestly. The older woman had always had a way of calming her down, no matter the situation. It was likely her experience with children, as Yvonne had shared her childhood home with three sisters whose discipline was often left up to her, and then grown up to become a schoolteacher and then quit to take care of her own son. Petunia wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the thought that she was essentially another toddler to her friend, but it wasn’t of too much consequence. 

“It’s good to see you, too, dear,” Yvonne replied absently, already bent down to see the crying little girl better. “Aren’t you a pretty one?” she crooned. “Aw, you’re so precious, aren’t you?”

“Yvonne.” It took all her self control not to snap at the older woman. The screaming beside her ear muted only by the fact that the girl had begun to rest her head on Petunia’s shoulder, was starting to make her ears ring and her head ache.

“Right, right, sorry,” she replied, not sounding sorry in the least. She kept her eyes on the girl a few moments longer, even after she straightened, but it took a few moments after that for the situation to seem to hit her. She frowned. “Pet?” she asked slowly. “Why exactly do you have a baby?”

“Can you make her shut up first?” Petunia begged.

“Oh, right.” The mother reached out and took the girl from Petunia, holding her to her chest and bouncing on her feet, petting the girl’s tiny head with her other hand. “Hey, hey, sweetie,” she cooed. “It’s alright, sweetie, you can calm down.” And a few moments later, the crying had died down, leaving a sleeping infant in its place.

“Here,” Petunia offered, gesturing to the more comfortable seating in her living room. “It’s a bit of a long story, and I’m not sure how much I can even tell you, technically.”

Yvonne took a seat on the couch, holding the baby in her lap, and, after pouring two cups of tea, Petunia joined her.

“Thanks, dear,” Yvonne said, taking the cup offered to her. “Now, explain?”

“My sister,” Petunia began, “Lily, you know the one. I’ve talked about her before. Anyway, just over a year ago, apparently, she had twins.”

“Apparently?”

“You know we don’t talk, Vonnie.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted, “but I didn’t realize you two were so…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

“Not talking?” Petunia supplied drily. “Yes, it’s been years since we spoke. She sent me an invitation to her wedding a few years ago and I went to that, but we didn’t talk then either. I congratulated her and left early.” She shrugged. “It hasn’t really bothered either of us- we haven’t been close since we were very young.”

“Still,” Yvonne murmured, resting a hand on Petunia’s shoulder. 

She just shrugged again, knocking the hand off her shoulder. “It really hasn’t. But she and her husband came by today, no warning or anything, saying she had twins, a boy and a girl, and circumstances I can’t really repeat are making her give the girl up.”

“Did something awful happen to them?” Yvonne immediately wanted to know, and Petunia smiled at her friend’s familiar nosiness. “Is it money? It’s usually money.”

“No, dear, it’s not money,” she interrupted. “My sister’s husband has more money than I can imagine them needing in a lifetime.”

This only piqued the other woman’s interest. 

“I’d rather not gossip about my sister, love,” Petunia cut in before she started. “The point is that she decided this one isn’t good enough to raise and left her with me. I don’t know what to do with a child, Vonnie,” she finished, her pitch rising as her anxiety bubbled to the surface.

Yvonne took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she tried to absorb the situation. “It’s going to be alright, Pet,” she said finally. “You’re not raising her alone. I’m here, and I’m quite sure the others will be more than happy to help out as well. You’re going to be just fine, and so will little... erm. What did you say her name was, dear?”

Petunia’s eyes widened in horror. “I have no idea,” she whispered. “They never mentioned it.”

“Hey, hey,” her friend comforted her, brushing back the hair that had fallen in her face when her face fell into her hands. “You hold the little one here, and I’m going to check and see if there’s anything identifiable in the baby carrier.”

Petunia nodded numbly, accepting the sleeping child and resting her cheek against the nameless baby’s head. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the wall until Yvonne’s voice broke her out of her thoughts.

“She has an embroidered blanket,” Yvonne announced, coming back into the room. “Here.”

“Lavinia,” Petunia read, smiling at the pretty name, and a flower as well, a family tradition in her mother’s line. “Lavinia Hyadette Potter.”

Yvonne’s eyes widened.

“What?” Petunia asked, glancing up at her friend.   


“Just a lovely name,” Yvonne assured her. “Bit of a mouthful, but lovely all the same.”

A smirk grew on Petunia’s lips as a plan formulated in her mind. There was a way, a way to get back at Lily, just a bit. And, hopefully, a way to distance the poor child from the couple who had thrown her to the curb. Lily would never forgive her, she sighed internally, not when she came back for her loyal little daughter, only to find someone else entirely. “Vonnie?”

“Yes?”

“Is it...  _ entirely _ too petty to change her last name to Evans?”

Now Yvonne looked positively devilish. “Not at all, dear,” she assured her. “Not at all.”

And so the forms were filled out, along with all the paperwork for an infant, as Lily hadn’t cared to register her children in the Muggle world, and Lavinia Hyadette Evans was born on October thirty-first of 2003, with no one ever having to know any different.

Just like Yvonne had promised, Petunia was the furthest thing from alone when it came to raising the new addition. Lavinia and Yvonne’s son, Thomas, were raised as close as siblings, as Petunia dropped Lavinia at her friend’s house on her way to work each morning she had to go and picked her up each evening. 

It was a strange way to live, raising a child she had never asked for, but she fell into a routine, and overall it was fine. And that was all she wanted.

The hardest part, Petunia had to admit, was keeping so many secrets from her friends. Every month, she went off to the magical bank, feeling entirely too out of place in her normal clothes and shoes and voice and life, to withdraw and exchange her payment from the vault James had put in her name, and absolutely no one could know where the money was coming from, or why she couldn’t take her niece to the bank, or say where the bank was. No one could be there to listen and understand while she could rant about the disdainful looks everyone gave her while she walked around, or the way she had never been warned that there would be goblins of all things running the bank, or that those very goblins had been more polite to her than anyone else had, and no one was polite to them in return.

She found that part quite appropriately strange for such a backwards world. The creatures that the wizards all treated like human- or non-human, she supposed- trash were the ones who were perfectly polite with the type of person who was the freak in the magical world. Astok, the goblin who was the manager of the Potters’ minor vaults, though he usually spent his days receiving customers, as it wasn’t a particularly consuming position, was a familiar face after the first few months, and someone she had quite a bit of respect for, even if he was, if possible, even more weird than Lily and the rest of her wizard friends. At least he knew what it was like to be considered inferior, and had the kindness and understanding of a similar soul.

It was lucky, Petunia had decided long ago, that James and Lily had been extremely vague and sudden when giving her the child, because it wasn’t too far from honest when she told everyone she had no idea what had happened. As far as everyone else knew, her sister and her husband were just awful people who gave up one twin out of a lack of love.

Petunia felt a bit bad about that particular assumption her friends tended to make, but, just like the rest of the lies, it wasn’t too far off. They did, of course, technically have a reason for giving up little Lav, but Petunia considered any reason for tossing away a child you had wanted to be a rather weak one. And, if she was to be entirely honest, it was kind of nice for people to make a negative assumption about Lily for once. Everyone who met the woman assumed she was perfect, and Lily was good enough with people that the illusion never had to break.

She never allowed her friends to shit-talk her baby sister, of course, but she didn’t correct them either. They assumed she was snobby, vindictive, a bit too high up in her own imaginary kingdom, and, given her attitude when Petunia last saw her, she wasn’t convinced they were wrong.

After the lies, the strangest part was how she fit in to the groups of mothers around her. She had figured she wouldn’t really get along with all the other mothers at preschools and play groups and things, but they were really lovely women once you got past their overly parental exterior. Even her own friends who had settled down with children immediately accepted her story and surrounded her with a constant buzz of excitement about her new child. She insisted that Lav was  _ not _ , in fact, her child, and, after their initial excitement had mellowed, they accepted it. And, as Lav grew a little older, Petunia found that parenting was beginning to come a little more naturally.

Childcare wasn’t her new passion, far from it, but she found that it was  _ fun _ to watch the little girl grow her vocabulary and get a hang of her coordination as she spun around the room to the music Petunia liked to keep playing. 

She was endlessly grateful that she didn’t have to actually spend all day everyday with the child, however. Lav was surrounded by aunties and uncles, and Petunia was happy to say she had never had to leave the girl in a daycare. She, of course, payed the friends who watched her, but between her own new and higher paying job, a management position she had accepted at a publishing firm the spring after she took in Lav, and the support she received from the Potters, the cost was nothing, and she and her niece lived comfortably. 

All of her friends adored the little girl as she got a little older, and Petunia reluctantly admitted to herself that she really, truly adored the child, every quirk and giggle brought a smile to her lips. 

Due to her generalized discomfort around children, Petunia had been talking to Lav the way she would to any older child ever since the day she took her in. Most of her friends found it quite strange, specifically Nicole and Carla, who cooed at their daughter in a way that Petunia found both endearing and quite annoying, but they all grudgingly admitted that it had done wonders for Lav’s development. She was reading children’s books on her own by two, and understood a surprising amount of what Petunia read aloud to her.

When she was three and a half or so, Petunia had decided that she had too much talent to let go to waste, and too much energy not to use, and she signed her niece up for dance classes. The little girl was immediately taken with her new lessons, dancing around the house constantly. She progressed quickly, giving up most other forms of dance for ballet, which the instructor praised her on constantly.

That brought about another strange thing- and damn, for a woman who detested all things strange, she was really accumulating a lot of strangeness in her life. There she was, watching another Evans girl excel at everything she put her mind to, but this time, Petunia felt no envy. Just pride, pride in her child. 

The lack of envy, welcome though it may have been, was a very strange experience. Instead of turning against the girl for her success, or turning against herself for her lack of it, she didn’t feel at all outdone. Instead she felt accomplished, because she may have been Lily’s child, but that was  _ her _ girl out there. That was  _ her _ niece. The circumstances were strange, but Petunia was doing exactly as she had always wished- excelling in perfectly normal areas of life.

She could almost ignore the strangeness if she tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you thought!! 
> 
> I have some Plans for the rest of her childhood, but I didn't particularly want to write a whole portion of the story about an infant, so next chapter will start when she's a little past 4. I also have no editor and barely edit my own work, so I most certainly take criticism if you have any feedback!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lav grows up a bit, and she gets her first taste of magic!

It was when Lavinia was a little past five that Petunia decided to put the girl in a few more classes. She came home every day from school complaining about how easy it was, admitting that she was bored out of her mind, unable to connect to the other children, and wasting her time. She had already moved her up a grade to year two, and there had been obvious improvements in her attitude, but she still spent her nights upset once she got back from ballet. The tears were getting to be more than Petunia wanted to handle.

So, after going through a few course lists with her niece, Petunia signed her up for French, Latin, ballroom dancing, and piano, all things she figured a proper young lady was supposed to be tutored in, according to the books, at least. She even signed the two of them up for a cooking class they could go to together, as Lavinia had been asking every night if she could help with supper. Anything it took to keep that girl busy.

She had taken to the classes like a fish to water, and her crying had turned to happy, mindless chatter about what she was learning that Petunia only mostly understood. It was the greatest relief imaginable.

She had been forced to explain magic and the magical world in a little more detail to the girl when she was about six, after her first and only spat of accidental magic had ruined the ballet shoes of Mindy Atkinson, aged eight, who would always pick on her for being younger than the rest of the class. She had rushed through the explanation as much as she reasonably could, preferring to focus on how her magic and the magical world had to be kept secret and contained, and instructed the girl on not letting her emotions get the best of her.

She still had to praise her, however, on her actions against the girl. She would normally never condone such behavior, but some of the things Lav told her Mindy had been saying had been quite cruel, and her expression had been quite funny when she tried on her shoes only to find that tugging on the ribbons made them rip apart.

After that, Lavinia had been very good about keeping her magic to herself, and Petunia was grateful she had brought it up when she did so that it wouldn’t have become a greater problem. The only thing she regretted telling her was about her trips to the magical world for the money from the Potters. 

Lavinia hadn’t shut up about wanting to go with her since she learned about the trips, and it was finally getting annoying enough that she had to just give in. The girl was like her- she likely wouldn’t want to return.

Diagon Alley was, after all, one of Petunia’s least favorite places.

She entered through a pub called The Leaky Barrel, holding Lav’s hand tightly so she wouldn’t get lost in the Tuesday afternoon crowd- not people she wanted near her niece- and the barkeep, Tom, led her through a door in the back of the bar which led to another bar, something that had greatly confused her the first time she had gone. The only difference was that on the other side, everyone was dressed in rather ridiculous getups. Robes, she had realized belatedly. 

He led her through a back entrance and they were faced with a brick wall. The man pulled out a stick- a wand, she supposed- and tapped certain bricks in a certain order. As he finished, the wall began to dissolve, not that that made any sense. But it shimmered and seemed to grow fainter and fainter until it was gone, and a cobblestone street lined with colorful shops on each side was revealed. The air smelled of fruit and sugar and something _other_ that she could only describe as magic. People meandered by, slowly, rather than with the harsh purpose she was accustomed to. Their murmured conversation floated past her ears, creating a pleasant rumble of contentedness.

But for everything wonderful, it still didn’t seem right. It was like the set of a movie, or someone else’s costume party that you were only watching through the window. It was beautiful, yes, but it didn’t seem tangible. Just a set. The smells were wrong, the snatches of conversation about things that didn’t exist- not in her world anyhow. Maybe it was perfect for other people, but she felt a clear weight of _not belonging._

Or maybe that- the perfection- was the real problem. As she passed the shops, everything was organized _just so_ \- by magic, probably. Every person was dressed _just so_ , everything they bought floated behind them _just so_ in pretty bags and boxes. Every stone in the road was placed _just so,_ every person’s voice accented _just so,_ every shop window set up _just so,_ every conversation carried out _just so._ It made her sick.

In her world, nothing about shopping was so perfect. Malls were dirty and smelled like cigarettes. The clothes were all so different, from ballgowns to blazers to sweaters to cropped t-shirts, from stilettos to sneakers, everything you could ever imagine. She loved the variety. She loved being able to walk down a street and find everyone dressed a little different, showing their own personal style even as they blended into a crowd.

The street where she always went to shop with Kat and Yvonne was a series of squat brick buildings with the fronts painted in different peeling pastels. Behind the buildings were narrow alleys filled with graffiti and glass. But the streetlights made the alleys glow gold and the ivy creeping up the crumbling brick made a beautiful contrast. When they were younger, they would take pictures of each other there with their cheap film cameras, dramatic shots, smiling ones, candids. They would set their purchases on the ledge and finish off ice cream from the old shop that made their fingers sticky.

Magic made things too easy- too perfect. It made her feel out of place, just… wrong. There was no humanity, no sharp lines, it simply _was._

The scrutiny, the bubbly atmosphere- she hated it.

Luckily, the only place she ever had to go was Gringotts, and the bank, at least, looked quite normal on the inside, even if it was a bit extravagant. 

It looked like perhaps it should have been a museum instead of a bank, with the marble floors and sweeping arches. But it didn’t look too different from how banks looked in old movies, with tellers’ stands and desks of bankers stretching back quite far. The goblins had taken getting used to, but she had grown accustomed to the little creatures.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Evans,” the teller greeted as she walked into the bank.

Petunia smiled. “Afternoon, Astok. It’s good to see you, as always,” she replied, her low heels clicking as she crossed the busy atrium to the usual stand.

“Who’s that with you today?” he asked, nodding towards Lavinia. 

“My niece, Lavinia,” Petunia explained. “She’s been asking to come for years, and, now that she’s almost seven, I figured she could handle herself.”

“You’re six then, hm?” he asked the girl, bending down slightly to be at her height. “Practically a lady by now?” 

“Yes, sir!” she replied, her bangs bouncing off her forehead as she bounced on her feet to reveal the lightning bolt shaped scar Petunia always preferred she cover.

The goblin frowned. “What did you say her name was, Ms. Evans?”

“Lavinia. Lavinia Potter,” she answered. “Why?”

“Well, I rather presumed the Potter child would have come with her parents.” He quite clearly expected an explanation.

Petunia glanced around. “I’m willing to discuss this issue, but perhaps we could take it to an office? Or anywhere else a bit more private.”

Astok nodded, beckoning the Evans women to follow him. “Right this way.”

Petunia grabbed ahold of Lavinia’s hand, pulling her after the goblin. They were led through a small door behind Astok’s desk and down a short hall to an office that looked quite similar to one in a regular bank, just with scrolls and feathers laying around.

Petunia took a seat across from the goblin and held Lavinia on her lap. “What is it that you wish to know, Astok?”

“Why you have the Potter child on your lap, for one,” he fired off, his face a blank mask, poised on the edge of his seat as though he would be recording her answers on a piece of the ridiculous parchment the magical world used.

Petunia raised an amused brow. “Because she clings like a koala.” 

Lavinia sent her a glare, climbing off her lap and sitting cross legged in the chair beside her.

Astok rolled his eyes, a rare display of emotion for the usually firm man. Petunia suspected he was simply more comfortable around her after all the years she had been coming every month than he was in public. “Why is Miss Potter not with her parents, then?"

Petunia took a calming breath, willing herself not to scream or break down in front of the goblin. “My sister, Lily Evans- now Potter- and her husband decided that she simply wasn’t famous enough to raise alongside her brother. She would be in danger from any attacks, which I of course understand, though I’m not quite sure why they would keep their son in a place where he’s going to be attacked anyway-” she cut herself off, reminding herself of all the reasons she wanted- no, needed- to stay calm. “Lily and James left Lavinia with me shortly after the attack. They said they would return when or if she receives a letter for school at thirteen.”

“That does explain the transfers, then.”

“Yes,” Petunia nodded. “I receive about five thousand Muggle pounds per month in child support.”

“And that’s enough for her training?”

“Training?” She frowned. Training for what? “Oh,” she realized. “You mean schooling? Lavinia hasn’t started real school yet, but I have money put away to send her to St. Margaret’s. Lily and James are paying for Hogwarts.”

“That’s lovely, but I was referring to her _training_ , not her schooling.”

She just blinked.

“Family training?” he tried. “Heiress training? I’m assuming she receives some sort of tutoring in the customs, etiquette, history, politics…”

Petunia shook her head, still watching him in open-mouthed shock. “Lav’s an heiress?” she asked finally, once she had regained her sense.

“Indeed,” he repeated, scanning a sheet of parchment he had pulled from god-knows-where. “The Potter headship is presumptive, as she is first-born. As James Potter never actually accepted his lordship, the seat is currently empty, so she’s set to inherit at sixteen.”

“Alright. Alright,” Petunia repeated, to convince herself more than Astok, if she was being honest. “She’s an heiress. Lavinia is an heiress. I’m not, in fact, raising the throwaway child, I’m raising the heiress of… something. The Potters, I assume.”

“Yes,” he affirmed, answering her implied question. “The Potters are an Ancient and Noble House with a good bit of management involved. The Potters’ account manager could explain all of this a great deal better, I’m sure, but-”

“Can we not involve other people?” Petunia begged. “My sister didn’t tell me she was an heiress, she didn’t tell me to train her in anything, and if she wanted something done with her child, I’m quite sure she could show up at my house again to spring it on me. I’d rather not make a thing of it. Or get my sister’s attention.”

He nodded sharply. “You will still be expected to hire tutors to adequately prepare the girl for taking up her seat on the Wizengamot,” he warned her. “She’d stand out quite a bit otherwise.”

Petunia sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples as her elbows came to rest on the desk. “What’s a Wizengamot?”

“The magical world’s governing body,” he answered. “She automatically has a seat in the Major House, but there are many subdivisions of the Wizengamot that she can apply for positions on if she wishes, once she’s claimed her seat. The Major House is mainly used for votes on major laws and extremely important trials.”

“And she's to have a seat on it? Just like that?” Petunia asked incredulously.

“On the House of Nobles, yes. The House of Commons is made up of elected representatives.”

She sighed. Technically, she hadn't signed up for anything, but she certainly hadn't signed up for _this_. “Alright,” she agreed. “I should have enough money to pay for training, though I actually have no idea how much that’s going to cost. I mean, God, who even works as a tutor? Are there tutoring agencies?”

“It is usually minor ladies and lords, or non-inheriting scions who will tutor, Ms. Evans,” Astok cut her off to answer. “Some cost more than others; it really depends.”

“We’re quite well off,” Petunia admitted freely, “but we don’t have money in the type of excess that’s probably required to hire a _lord_ as a tutor. And would one person be enough? Do people specialize in tutoring a certain subject?”

“I would assume that is particular to the tutor,” he explained. “I can send your information, under fully understood discretion, to a handful of scions of higher families I know offer their services as tutors, if you wish? We pay little attention to the specifics of the ways of mages here at Gringotts, so another mage could answer your questions far better.”

“Yes, please,” Petunia hurried to say. “That would all be greatly appreciated.”

Astok nodded and waved his hand, summoning a piece of parchment and a quill from across the room. Petunia could hear Lavinia’s quiet gasp at the show of magic. 

“How did you do that?” she demanded. “Erm, sir?”

He eyed her over his wire rimmed glasses. “Magic, child. I used my magic to summon it.”

Lavinia’s eyes were wide at the new information, and she scrunched up her face, concentrating as hard as she could. She held her hand out just like he had, and a few moments later a roll of parchment flew to her hand, though its path was a bit wobbly.

“Woah,” she breathed. 

Petunia was no less shocked, and her jaw clenched at the sight of magic. But this wasn’t Lily this time, this was Lavinia. Not Lily. Lavinia, she reminded herself. Lavinia her darling little niece, who she had always known was a witch. This was no surprise, she had to remind herself as she watched the girl send the scroll bouncing up and down above her hand with her magic. Lavinia was perfectly normal for who she was, and her weirdness in Petunia’s own world was not something she would hold against her. She couldn’t do that to the little girl, and she could _not_ let Lily have the last word with her child.

“That’s an outstanding level of control for one so young,” Asktok commented. “Has she done this before?”

Petunia shook her head. “Not as far as I know.”

“Tremendous,” he said again, not tearing his eyes from the girl. “She’s likely to be quite powerful in her own right.”

“Yes,” Petunia agreed, unsure what exactly she was agreeing with. “Will she need to be trained in magic as well?”

Petunia caught sight of a gleam in his eye. “Wizards are not supposed to be using magic before they begin school or receive their wand,” was all he said. “Hiring a wizard to teach her underage magic would be illegal for everyone involved.”

“Parents, then?” she had to ask. “Can a parent teach their own child?”

“The child will not have a wand, of course, so it is unlikely that they would,” he allowed. “But the laws are unlikely to pick up a parent teaching their child magic.”

Meaning that Oliver was being taught. Or he would be, before Hogwarts started, anyway. “Then someone who isn’t a wizard can tutor her,” Petunia decided, hoping that was what he was hinting at. “A goblin even, perhaps?”

He smirked. “Indeed.”

“Astok?”

“Yes, Ms. Evans?”

She smiled, and, though it was mostly the smirk of someone who knows something that someone else doesn’t, and has every desire to hang it over their head, at least a bit of it was the fond smile one sends a friend after playing through an inside joke. “Would you be willing to offer your services to tutor my niece in magic?”

“It would be my honor to tutor Heiress Potter, Ms. Evans,” he replied, a similar expression taking over his own face. “I can also offer my services in history, if you so desire. I did acquire my mastery in the subject.”

“Yes, please,” she accepted, grateful beyond measure for one less thing to do. “Though I fear, I may not be able to properly pay you.”

He looked at her, then Lav, like a couple of specimens under glass for a moment, before his face split into a grin that showed a few too many teeth. “No cost yet,” he decided. “You’ll pay, with interest, once she’s gotten access to enough money.”

“Thank you,” came her immediate relieved reply. “And other than that, she needs one for customs, and what else? She already takes cotillion, and that covers basic etiquette, and I assume it’s not too different here. She also takes French, Latin, ballroom dancing, and ballet.”

“She should be quite prepared on her own then. But politics, certainly,” he added immediately, “though she doesn’t particularly need to begin those studies right now. I’m sure there are other things, but I have never cared to be aware of the exact process.”

“Well, for now, then, please contact a few witches for us who could tutor her in customs and politics,” she requested. “We’ll figure it out, kid,” she said softly, turning to Lavinia, who was still playing around with her magic. “You’re gonna be a right proper heiress, and you’re never gonna have to worry about being good enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There ya go! Let me know what you thought, and what you'd like to see in this story! I have a sort of outline I'm working with, but mostly I'm winging this one on the side while focusing on my other posted story, so I'm open to lots of suggestions!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into the training of an heiress.

“Lavinia!” Petunia called, waiting only a few seconds to hear an answer, and sighing when she didn’t receive one. She trudged up the stairs and knocked sharply on her niece’s door. “Lav!” she called again. “I know you’re in there!”

Still nothing. She finally gave up on getting the girl’s attention and opted to just let herself in. 

Lavinia and Astok were facing each other in the center of her bedroom, shooting spells at each other in what appeared to be a rainbow pattern. The bright light reflected off the walls, creating a disco ball type effect,  and Astok, who had apparently brought a sword through all of that, was repelling Lavinia's spells with the blade.

“What is going on here?” she asked, her icy voice stretched thin enough to snap.

Her tone startled Lavinia into breaking her focus, and as soon as she turned to her aunt, she was hit by an orange spell.

The curse burned like fire in her veins, pumping through her body as though it were alive, some ancient creature trying to burn her body through. But just as soon as the sensation came, it was gone.

She shot a dirty glare at Astok. “Really?” she asked. “Really, you had to shoot that one as soon as Auntie got here?”

He just shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “You shouldn’t have lost your focus,” he barked.

She just looked at him incredulously. “It’s  _ Auntie _ .”

“Yes it is,” Petunia cut in. “And I would love to know why you’re doing magic in the house.”

Lavinia squirmed under her disapproving gaze. “We just wanted to try something.”

“This house,” Petunia told her, “is not a place to practice your magic tricks. You have lessons at Gringotts three times a week, and  _ that _ is where you can practice your spells and such.” She paused, taking a deep breath. Was she wrong to stop her? Was it the child’s right to fill the house with spells at all hours of the day? 

It was only… home was normal. The townhome she and Lavinia shared was perfectly, beautifully, normal. Every piece of furniture was pretty and still looked like every matching piece in any other house. No one who went inside would ever assume anything but perfectly normal activities went on there. Exactly how she liked it.

“We  _ were  _ practicing at Gringotts, Auntie,” Lavinia argued, and her calm manner while arguing was something Petunia was extremely envious of. “And then it was time to go home, but Astok wanted to show me this last thing and-”

“Well, Astok should know better,” she replied tersely, trying to keep her tone steady. “There will be no magic in this house,  _ especially  _ while you aren’t even fully trained. This,” she continued, as Lavinia had already opened her mouth for a retort, “is not up for discussion. Now your etiquette lessons start in forty minutes; I know you like to eat a bit before it, so I’ve already prepared dinner. Please say goodnight to Astok and come downstairs when you’re cleaned up.”

And with that she left, before Lavinia could say anything in response. 

“She hates me,” Lavinia whispered, letting her forehead fall to her palm. 

Astok sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder . “She doesn’t hate you.”

She rounded on him. “You don’t know that!” she shot. “She hates me, and she doesn’t even want me.”

If his eyes were back any further, she was sure they would see right into his brain. In a way, it was comforting, the way the goblin never had time for her emotions. He’d gate crash every pity party with a sword and a rational opinion.

“You think your aunt, the woman you’ve known and loved your whole life, hates you over one thing?” he asked, sounding so aggressively skeptical it was almost funny. “You think that woman, who vowed to ensure you have everything in life, who took you in with no advanced notice, doesn’t want you because now, years after you started displaying magic, you performed it in the house? Listen to yourself, you stupid girl.”

“No…”

“Your aunt,” he began, and she could hear how unaccustomed he was to such conversation in the tightness of his tone, “has not had particularly good experiences with magic. Her discomfort with magic and the magical world has nothing to do with her care for you.”

She sniffled, looking up at him hopefully from where she had sunk to sit against the wall. “You really think so?”

“No,” he said drily. “I’m lying for the sake of your feelings, because that’s something I certainly do.”

She giggled at the familiar sarcasm. “Thank you, Astok.”

“Mm. Now, I believe you have other lessons, so I will be taking my leave. Good evening, Miss Evans. Ask your aunt, perhaps, about where your mother is now.” And he disappeared with a quiet click.

“Bye,” she muttered after him. 

She was itching to pester her aunt about what Astok had mentioned, but she could still feel the sweat on her neck and chest, and she was far too intimidated by the etiquette tutor to arrive for lessons in such a state. 

She rushed through a shower, not even waiting for the water to warm before lathering herself in her vanilla scented soaps, and slipped into high waisted grey pants, a poofy white dress shirt, and black ballet flats, before hurrying down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and sliding into her seat at the kitchen table. 

“Auntie?” she asked, taking the bowl of soup from the older woman with a forced smile. “Auntie, where’s my mum right now?”

Petunia froze in her place. “Why do you ask? You’ve never asked about your mother before.”

Lavinia chewed on her lip. “Astok told me to,” she admitted. “He said there’s a reason you hate my magic so much.”

“I don’t hate your-“ she cut herself off and her shoulders sunk. She had really messed up, hadn’t she. “Your mother and I,” she began, speaking slowly and carefully, “were very close when we were young. We did everything together.”

“But?”

“But,” she continued, taking the seat next to Lavinia and clasping her hands in front of her, “then your mother discovered her magic. And oh, it was lovely for her; our parents thought she was the most amazing little girl in the world, most of the children at school thought she was the absolute coolest girl- even if she only ever hung out with the one boy down the street. Because he had magic, too, didn’t he. She barely spoke to me, and why would she, when she had her magical friend.”

Lavinia reached out almost instinctively to cover her aunt’s hands with her own, the heated tremble in the older woman’s voice warming her own heart, even through her previous anger.

Petunia sent her a small smile, the tiny spark of reassurance all she was sure she could handle. “Anyway,” she picked back up, forcing a light tone, “when she turned thirteen, she went off to her magic school with her magic friends, and I don’t think we’ve had a real conversation since. But since only shortly after she discovered her magic, I set myself on the goal of being extremely normal in every way.

“And I’ll admit,” she confessed, the words sour in her mouth, “I was not always the kindest to your mother. I was  _ normal _ , remember, and very certain of that. But I didn’t give up her, never did.”

She reached over to run a hand over Lavinia’s braid. “When she came by that one morning, entirely unannounced, I might add, to drop you at my door, I hadn’t even known you existed, you or your brother. I hadn’t seen her since her wedding.”

“Auntie?” Lavinia interrupter, something suddenly occurring to her. “Auntie, what’s my brother’s name?”

Petunia’s eyebrows raised. Had she really never told her? “Oliver,” she replied. “His name is Oliver.”

“Oliver,” Lavinia repeated, testing the name in her mouth. She grimaced. “Sorry, do continue.”

“What do you remember of what I told you about your brother?” Petunia asked, barely straying from the topic.

Lavinia frowned. “Well, his name is Oliver.” She caught Petunia’s eye and gave her a cheeky grin, but it dropped quickly. “You said he would be in danger, I think.”

Petunia nodded. “Your brother, mostly by accident I suppose, defeated a very awful man in the magical world, ending a war that had apparently gone on for quite a long time.”

Lavinia just blinked.

It sounded like some sort of fairytale, she mused- her twin brother defeating the villain and saving the country. It didn’t make much sense  _ how _ , of course, as they were still babies at the time, not to mention that “defeated” meant nothing more than killed, even if it sounded much fancier. Did that technically make her twins with a murderer?

It just seemed so… out there, so overdone, unrealistic even. Not like something that was actually supposed to  _ happen _ in the real world.

“Alright…”

Petunia huffed a laugh. “Well, he was in a good bit of danger from the supporters of the man he defeated, and your  _ mother _ ,” she spat, “decided that everyone was better off if you were sent to grow up apart from them.”

Lavinia flinched back as if struck. “She just got rid of me?” she asked, her face falling. “Just like that?”

Petunia felt a pang of guilt at the girl’s disappointment. “No, no, sweetheart,” she tried to assure her. “It wasn’t some easy, split-second decision. That’s just me still being a bit bitter.”

“But she still gave me up,” she asked, but it came out as nothing but a statement, and a resigned one at that.

Petunia bit her lip, and a tear rolled down her flushed cheek as she nodded, slowly, eyes squeezed shut so she wouldn’t have to see her niece’s reaction.

Lavinia was conflicted.

She had always been aware that she had a family, that part wasn’t coming as any sort of shock. She knew that her mother was Lily Potter nee Evans, and her father was James Potter, and she had a twin brother. She had known since she had learned about magic that her parents had it, and her brother had it, and her auntie didn’t, nor did her grandparents. She knew that her mother didn’t talk to Auntie, and she knew that her auntie had had to take her in because of something called “extenuating circumstances”.

She had never really asked any questions past that. It hadn’t really mattered, had it? Her parents were closer to ideas than people in that sense. They were out there, somewhere, the woman who birthed her, the man she loved. But they were just… out there. Somewhere. Living their own lives as she lived hers

Now her brother was famous, her mother abandoned her, her father was somewhere in this whole equation and hadn’t stopped her from being sent away.

But she had grown up with her auntie, and she didn’t want it any other way. 

Lavinia took a deep breath, straightening her back and sticking out her jaw. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, and if the eyes were windows to the soul, Petunia would have seen a very, very old, wisened soul within. She smiled. “‘Sides, I have you. What do I need with a mum?”

A few more tears fought to escape Petunia’s eyes. “Of course,” she said softly. “No need at all.” She shook her head, clearing her mind. “Anyway, your parents wanted you safe, and wanted your brother safe, and wanted to be able to raise their son properly in the spotlight and all that, and I got you.” She smiled, gently as she could when she still felt about to cry. “I know the circumstances are…  _ regrettable _ , to say the least, but I don’t regret taking you in for a single moment.” She bit her lip, knowing what she had to say next would not be so well received. “And I still don’t want magic in the house, Lav, at least not until we know you can’t hurt yourself.”

Lavinia pouted, but it was hopeless to argue with Auntie about that. “And when will we know that?”

Petunia frowned. “Erm…” Her fingers came to rest on her temple. “Once you start school, you’re not allowed to use your wand outside of school, but I figure you can use the wand the summer before school starts so you can be prepared, and the stuff you’re doing without a wand is allowed in the house…” She thought hard, and sighed. “Fine, all magic is allowed starting the summer before your schooling starts, and that summer you can practice with your wand.”

She had expected some reaction from Lav then, either more pouting at far off the time seemed, or excitement at the prospect of one day being able to use magic in the house. What she had not expected was blank confusion.

“What?” she asked her niece.

“What do you mean, school? When does that start?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I haven’t-? Right. Anyway. You know the castle I always used to tell you about so that you’d fall asleep? When you were little?”

Lavinia’s head bobbed up and down excitedly. “The castle you always talked about me living in when I got older!” It seemed to hit her then, and her jaw dropped. “Magic school is in a  _ castle _ ?”

Petunia stifled a laugh at her reaction. “Yes, dear. The castle I always talked about is called Hogwarts, and it’s the British school for witchcraft and wizardry. You get to start there when you’re thirteen, just like your mother did, and just like your brother will.”

Lavinia’s face fell, and Petunia couldn’t help but find her crinkled nose and creased brow unexpected under the circumstances.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

Lavinia glanced around the room, folding her hands and squirming slightly under Auntie’s worried gaze.

“I don’t want a brother,” she burst finally.

“What?”

“I don’t want a brother,” she repeated, crossing her arms. “I don’t want to go to the castle and have to deal with a mum and a dad and go to magic school with some famous brother I don’t even know. I mean, who even are they all? All I know are their names, and I saw the picture of my mum and dad from their wedding, but that’s not a family. They’re a family. And we’re a family. Why does there have to be anything else?”

She glanced up to meet her aunt’s eyes and was met with so much love and pity it was almost overwhelming. The older woman opened her arms wide, and Lavinia immediately threw herself into them, wrapping her own embrace around her aunt as tight as she could. She could smell the rose perfume the older woman favored, and she breathed in the familiar scent as it calmed her indignant anger to a gentle frustration.

“It’s gonna be a long fight, kid,” Petunia said softly. “They’re gonna expect you back when you’re thirteen. To go rejoin their family and call them Mum and Dad and Ollie, or whatever silly nickname they give him, and live with them and be just like them. And you know I would never force you into anything like that, but it’s going to be a long and very difficult fight to have no contact with them whatsoever.”

“Why would they want me back?” Lavinia asked, pulling back with wet eyes.

“After already giving you up? I don’t know, kid, and I wish I did,” she admitted. “Probably assume that once you’re in the magical world that you won’t want to leave. Or maybe they think you shouldn’t? Or that I won’t want you to stay here?” She shook her head. “I really don’t know. I think they also feel you’ll be old enough at that point to be safer through any possible attacks.”

Lavinia leaned back into her aunt’s embrace, but as she opened her mouth to reply, there was a sharp rap at the door.    


Petunia let her up, handing her a tissue to wipe her eyes. “Looks like your etiquette tutor is here. Time for you to do all those silly exercises so you can be a proper young lady one day,” she said in a sing-song voice, teasing the girl. 

“They’re not silly, Auntie,” Lavinia argued primly, sending a light glare at her aunt as she straightened to go answer the door before the tutor got upset. “They’re all extremely important skills for a proper lady in high society to have before entering the social and political circles befitting of her station.”

“You sound like a right ponce, dear, and I hope you know that!” Petunia called, leaning over the railing laughing as she slipped upstairs to give Lavinia space for her lessons.

Lavinia rolled her eyes, but she knew her aunt meant it all in good fun. After all, Auntie wasn’t the one who was going to be a Lady one day.

She decided that she was learning things quite backwards, as she knew magic before she knew about- let alone attended- magic school, and learned to be a Lady before she even met her family in the Magical world. But she wasn’t learning as much as training, she supposed, and that took time, whereas learning little things about her own life were just as easy and useful at any time.

Oliver, she was sure, was learning everything he needed to know as early as he could. He was a hero, right? Some sort of famous conquering baby, loved by the entirety of the magical world? She was sure he had far more tutors and trainers than she did- and he had the experience of living there, and being raised by people who knew everything he needed to know.

It made her extremely angry, or at least indignant.

She was still grateful for the way she herself had grown up, and had no wish for the alternative, but it was very unfair of her parents to give one child all the opportunities. She knew that it was Auntie and Astok who set up all her tutors- meaning that if it was up to her parents, she wouldn’t have had any training at all. She shuddered to think of what she would have endured upon entering the magical world with no prior understanding.

She would be better than him, she swore. She would prove that his fancy training and his time in the spotlight and being raised and loved by the Potters wasn’t enough to give him a head-up on her. Not one bit. If Auntie had sworn to be normal, she could swear to be the best, right?

She pulled the door open to find that her tutor with her fist raised to knock again, and she had to dodge so that she wouldn’t be hit in the face. 

“Good evening, Lady Woodward,” Lavinia greeted, slipping on what Auntie always called her ‘heiress mask’. She couldn’t usually tell when she was using it, but Auntie claimed it was extremely obvious, from the way she stood, walked, spoke- even her facial expressions smoothed.

She could notice in times like right then, when her tutor arrived, and she already knew she had to act a certain way, but usually it just sort of happened. Often times, it happened when she was upset or offended, and it made for a very effective way to tell people off. It was quite intimidating from all accounts.

She generally only noticed it because it felt so much  _ better _ to act like that. Lady Woodward had explained that many wizards and witches in high society would adopt an almost entirely blank outward appearance, and she was somewhat able to manage that type of mask, but after a good deal of pestering, her tutor had admitted that she didn’t have to be entirely blank if she hated it so much. So she saved the eerily apathetic manner for when she wanted to make use of it specifically.

But the proper manners, those she enjoyed. They came naturally to her, and they just…  _ flowed _ in a way that was so much more peaceful. Her expressions flowed from one gentle feeling to the next, never bringing too much attention to her movements or emotions. She swayed slightly as she walked, as though she was dancing or floating on air the entire time. Her voice was steady, and the words came out sure and prepared, which they were, because interactions had rules. Every single interaction had rules, and she never had to wonder if she was doing something wrong without knowing it.

Not to mention that it was all so very romantic. The older witch tutoring her had shown her pictures of magical fashion, which, for women, was quite similar to normal fashion a few hundred years ago, and things of such a nature, and, combined with the dancing and the manners and the subtle hints at feeling woven into speech, she could have stepped right out of Austen or Bronte or Wilde. Every story she loved could come to life, right in the magical world.

She was glad, however, that she wouldn’t have to stay there  _ all _ the time. Living stories was fun, but if one attempted to live every aspect of her life like a storybook, she would lose her own sense of self and her connection with the outside world to disappear into the obsession of perfection and romance. And as lovely as that seemed, Lavinia had a brother to one-up; she couldn’t lose touch.

“Good evening, Miss Evans,” Lady Woodward replied, striding confidently through the front door and into the living room, Lavinia following politely behind. 

She took the older woman’s coat and hat, hanging them on the hook that stood in the corner. The heavy wool coat, a bit excessive for the warm October evening, though she knew the woman did get cold easily, trailed on the floor as she carried it, try as she might to hold them higher, and she couldn’t help but admire the black and tan houndstooth cloche hat.

“What will we be practicing this evening, milady?”

Her smile may have been perfectly polite, but Lavinia had been training under the woman for three years. She knew a devilish glint when she saw one. 

“You’re going to conduct a proper political discussion over tea, attempting to convince me why a certain piece of legislation about werewolves should not be passed, as though we were colleagues on the Wizengamot and you wish to earn my vote for a piece of legislation you will be posing at some point in the future,” she recited primly, reading her lesson plans from a small notebook in her lap.

Lavinia would have groaned, had she had her normal person face on. “Of course, ma’am,” she replied. “Would you like me to set a pot?”

“Indeed. Oh, and one more thing,” Lady Woodward added. “Once you have taken the tea to the table, we will be seeing just how many objects around the room you can keep balanced on your head; it’s time we move on from just a few books.”

Even the stinging hex sent in her direction was worth rolling her eyes, directly in the proper woman’s face. She was in for a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a hot minute to update because I started *another* fic! go check it out- it's an entirely different take on fem!harry/tom
> 
> I hope the longer chapter makes up for my lack of attention, and please let me know what you thought of the chapter and the new or expanded upon characters!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a glimpse into Lav's internal monologue for a few thousand words.

Each birthday after Lavinia had learned about Hogwarts just felt like another step closer to her future.

She was set to be eleven tomorrow, and, as usual, she and Auntie would stay up until midnight, and she would blow out the candles as soon as the clock struck twelve. They had spent the evening baking the most extravagant cake Lavinia had ever made- three stacked layers high of vanilla sponge cake, frosted in mint green, her favorite color, with darker green ivy leaves creeping around the sides. It was a gorgeous cake, and she had taken at least a million pictures of it once it was finished.

She loved their traditions, the way everything just fit, without a plan or a discussion or a schedule. On October thirtieth, every year without fail, she and Auntie would bake the cake after dinner, and, once it was in the refrigerator to chill, they would curl up together on the couch in fluffy bathrobes and fluffier blankets and watch movies until it was almost midnight, and time to eat the cake.

Her best friends, Lucy, Colleen, and Devonté, always complained about her birthday being on Halloween, because she never went to parties with them, electing to stay home to celebrate. But this year, since Halloween already fell on a Friday, and they couldn’t all agree on the excuse to celebrate her birthday on the weekend, they had agreed to come over that night to celebrate. 

She couldn’t tell them, of course, but she did know that October thirty-first wasn’t her actual birthday. However, as she had no idea when her actual birthday was, Halloween did well enough, and she didn’t mind much if they had her party a few days afterwards. All she knew was that it was some time before September first, because that was when Hogwarts started, and Astok had mentioned that she would start Hogwarts in only two more years, and she would be thirteen by then. She assumed he knew, or at least could find out, her actual birthday, but she had never thought to ask.

The only one who knew the mystery of her birthday, aside from Auntie, of course, was Thomas, Auntie’s friend Yvonne’s son. Thomas was her oldest friend, even if he wasn’t her closest, and she could honestly say she trusted him with anything. He was a lot like her in the sense that he was a bit reserved a lot of the time, but he was more opinionated than her, and more likely to prefer the company of a few people to a group. 

He fit in well with her friends, and she was eternally grateful that everyone got along, but Lucy once described him, in confidence, of course, as her on steroids. It had made little sense at the time until Lucy explained, but once she did, it really did work out. In every aspect that she deviated from the norm, in her friends’ eyes at least, he deviated the same way, just… more. She was proper, he was more proper, around them, that is; she was quiet, he was quieter; she was intelligent, he was much more open about his intelligence. 

But Lucy was almost the opposite of Lavinia, so it balanced out quite nicely. Lucy was the life of the party type of friend, getting them into even the upper years’ parties on the weekends, always out doing some exciting thing- either with her family or with whichever of her friends she could drag with her. She wasn’t nearly as book-smart as Lavinia was, nor as focused, but she understood people in a way that Lavinia was jealous of. Not to mention that she kept Lavinia herself from disappearing into her studies and never coming back out. All they had in common, surface level, was the same scathingly dry sense of humor.

Devonté was similar to Lucy in a lot of ways, just as outgoing and very popular among the girls. But where Lucy’s skill came in working a room, Devonté could play any sport he put his mind to, and he was well on his way to joining a national team if he could ever pick something to prioritize. Lavinia wasn’t sure how they’d got to be such good friends, but he went to the boys’ school right down the road from St. Margaret’s, and after running into each other once, they’d never looked back. Somehow they just… clicked.

Colleen was shyer than Lucy was, but the two of them had been friends for years and years before Lavinia had met either of them. Colleen was honestly the sweetest person she knew and likely would ever know, but when the girl got angry, Lavinia knew first hand that she could do a good bit of damage. But she was wonderful to be around, and acted as another balancing force to keep Lucy and Devonté from dragging them into all sorts of messes.

Once the idea of magic school had really sunk in, she had cried night after night at the idea of leaving her friends. 

Auntie had assured her that she would make new friends at Hogwarts, and that her friends weren’t going to forget about her when she was still coming home multiple times a year, but it had still taken a lot of reassurance to accept that she would be leaving in, now, two years. 

She had been taking her lessons, training to be an Heiress and then a Lady one day, for four whole years now, not to mention her extracurriculars for six years, and every time she thought about that, she realized how surreal it all felt. It was just her life, or it felt that way at least. She knew her schedule by heart, though she kept it in a meticulously recorded planner as well, so her extra lessons and courses didn’t bother her at all. Her friends were even mostly aware of her schedule by now, so there were rarely scheduling conflicts, meaning that she was almost never reminded of just how many extra things she did.

She had etiquette and magic training on Sunday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights, piano lessons- which had recently become piano and voice lessons, after she had expressed interest in performing- on Monday nights, ballroom dance on Thursday nights, and ballet practice after school for two hours every day but Wednesdays, during which time she had Latin classes, and she had just gotten to the level where she had three hours of ballet on each Saturday and Sunday as well. She had used to have French lessons, too, but now that she was in secondary school, she’d just joined the advanced French class to keep up the language she was already practically fluent in.

She’d written off etiquette lessons as a more advanced version of the cotillion she and Lucy had done when they were younger, and claimed that magic lessons were self-defense training with a personal trainer, which wasn’t entirely a lie, at least. Magic could be used for defence, and a lot of the duelling techniques she learned were very similar to the types used to any type of sparring or fencing type exercises.

All her friends thought she was absolutely bonkers for taking even half the classes she did, and they didn’t even know the half of it.

When she wasn’t training for _something_ , she was training anyway. She had taken her vow quite seriously, and she spent every waking minute trying to be the very best she could be. She made sure to keep time tucked away to spend with her friends, mostly so that she wouldn’t go insane, but she would still stay up for hours after all her lessons were over to pour over the books Astok let her borrow about Magical culture- wizards and goblins alike- or to practice a certain dance step over and over in her bedroom until her feet were raw. 

Auntie was somewhat aware of the extent of her excessive dedication, and encouraged it to a point, but she pushed Lavinia to keep her health in mind. She had explained that sometimes people tried to keep themselves absorbed in work so that they wouldn’t have to think about their reality, or that sometimes people pushed themselves to limits they couldn’t reach out of a sort of insecurity, but Lavinia didn’t think either of those sounded like her.

She was well aware she didn’t have to take all the courses that she did, that she could drop a few and still be doing far more than she needed to, but above wanting to prove herself, above wanting to get to the magical world a hundred times better than her brother, she honestly loved the courses. Auntie had suggested dropping two lessons once, taking seven down to five, but she had found herself truly incapable of choosing. She had stared at the list for an hour, trying to wrestle even one course into submission so she could have a bit of extra free time, but not a single course stopped fighting back on her decision, and eventually she just gave up.

And now that she was eleven, she had another course to start up- politics.

Magical politics.

She knew it would be necessary once she was a Lady- Lady Woodward had explained that she would inherit a certain political position, and she would thus need to understand the political climate and how to look ten steps ahead for various laws she could consider voting in favor of, or how to vote in a high profile trial, or how to balance the accounts for the Potter House, or any number of other things.

She would need to have a comprehensive understanding of the laws of the magical world, and the history behind them, she would need to know how to write official letters and documents, how to phrase things without getting caught in loopholes, how to analyze contracts for tricks, how to give public speeches that could rally a crowd to her positions, and how to talk and schmooze with other politicians.

She refused to just coast along when she was given such an opportunity, when she had all the social and political power of being a Lady of a Most Ancient and Noble House. She had an opportunity most people would kill for handed to her on a silver platter, and she would not let that go to waste. Part of proving herself in the magical world meant showing that circumstantial fame from the age of one was nothing beside a young woman who truly made a difference.

As the course of her life had chosen for her, it was age eleven that she began training to make that difference. Auntie had told her that they would go to Gringotts to meet her new politics tutor on the Sunday right after her birthday, and, grudging though she may have been at the prospect of memorizing a hundred laws, she couldn’t help but feel excited at the new people she would meet and the new things she could learn.

She couldn’t help but wonder what differences there were between normal politics and magical politics. She already knew there was a difference in the sense of a House system and inherited political stations, but she had to assume the entire thing was different, as the two worlds had existed quite separately for as long as anyone knew. She really did have a lot to learn.

“Lavinia!” came her aunt’s call, startling her out of her thoughts. “Dear, it’s almost midnight. You might want to come down soon.”

The movie they watched had ended half an hour before, and Lavinia had elected to take a break, during which she ran through her new ballet routine on repeat, starting from the place that she finished, over and over, while she attempted to work through the strange feelings that came with her birthday.

Her aunt’s voice threw her right out of her mind, and she realized she had been holding the same position for much longer than she had meant to. Slowly lowering her leg and feeling the ache once the blood returned to her feet, she dashed downstairs as the clock read 11:58.

“I’m here, I’m here!” she called, skidding to a stop only inches before colliding with the counter. She winced. She could already hear Lady Woodward’s voice scolding her for her lack of manners and elegance in all things, or whatever she would say.

Auntie sent her an indulgent smile, poorly concealing a laugh at her near crash. “Alright,” she said instead, ignoring Lavinia’s exclamation. “Thirty seconds until you’re eleven.”

“I’m already eleven,” Lavinia argued, mock offended. 

Auntie sniffed, playing along. “Then I suppose we don’t need this cake, do we? Maybe I should just eat it right now, or give it to Yvonne…”

“No! You can’t do that!” Lavinia cried, holding out her arms to block her aunt’s creeping hands, her grin betraying her false tears. “It’s my birthday!”

“You mean it’s your birthday in-” she checked her watch “-twelve seconds. Eleven seconds.”

“Ten, nine, eight, seven,” they chanted together, and Auntie flipped the lights off so the room was illuminated by nothing but the candles on the cake. “Six, five, four, three, two, one-”

“Zero,” Auntie murmured, and Lavinia closed her eyes, pulling in a big breath. 

She exhaled, and the room was plunged into darkness, the comforting kind, 

Lavinia felt her aunt’s arm fall around her shoulders, holding her to her side in a gentle embrace, and she leaned into the older woman’s warmth, savoring the moment until her aunt flipped the lights back on.

“You’re eleven,” Auntie said lightly, stating the obvious in a way that almost made Lavinia smile. Almost.

“I’m eleven,” she agreed, and it felt like the weight of the world falling on her shoulders.

_______

  
  


There was nothing she really needed to worry about, she decided afterwards. The cake was, as expected, delicious, which she really already knew from the sheer amount of batter she snuck before they put the cake in the oven. 

Lucy, Colleen, Devonté, and Thomas had come over straight after school and stayed all night, giving her presents and hugs and teasing her endlessly about having just turned eleven when the rest of them were all twelve. They stuffed themselves with cake and Disney movies, and the teasing was finally redirected towards Devonté when he cried through Lion King. The night was perfect.

Her new tutor was a sweet older woman, Lady Miera, with deep honey blonde hair and soft features, a harsh contrast to the sharp and prim Lady Woodward, and she couldn’t help but find herself grateful that Astok had agreed to only find people who remained mainly neutral politicly, because the way the woman spoke could get her to agree with just about anything she said.

She learned the first day, as it was the first question she asked, why it was that Lady Miera was the one who held her family’s seat on the Wizengamot, while Lady Woodward did not. Lady Woodward had a younger brother who their parents would have given the family seat, but their house was but a minor one, so there was no seat to compete for, and he just held the title. She had married the Woodward heir, however, so she was the Lady to his house, while he was the Lord and held the seat as firstborn son. Lady Miera was the eldest daughter of an Ancient and Noble House which had no sons, so she had taken the seat and married down in rank to keep the title. It was all a bit confusing, and far more complicated than Lavinia thought was necessary, but it seemed to work alright for the magical world. The only part she truly disagreed with was the prioritization of sons for heirs.

Auntie liked Lady Miera, or Emilia, as Auntie called her, much more than she liked Lady Woodward. Lavinia thought it was because she didn’t act nearly as formal, which was true to a point, but she spoke the same way Lady Woodward did- she just had a far more charming smile when she tossed her hair and sent a conspiratorial smirk with her dark eyes glimmering with a joke no one else understood, because there was no joke, or so Lavinia learned. Lady Miera had told her that making everyone think there was something going on they didn’t understand could easily throw them off, causing them to say things they didn’t mean to say, but that making a person feel as though something was going on that only the two of them knew about made them highly malleable.

Lavinia could just watch in slightly glassy-eyed awe as the woman spoke.

The new lessons were on Friday and Sunday nights, leaving Saturday night her only free night. It wasn’t too hard to adapt to the new schedule, as all she had to do was study in the morning instead of at night during the weekends, and she was an early riser as it was, a habit from when she used to have ballet in the mornings before school rather than after. She was endlessly grateful that had ended.

Lady Woodward always preferred to hold their lessons in the living room- or the parlor, she called it- saying that a proper Lady always received guests in a proper sitting room, but Lady Miera would pull a chair up directly to her desk in her bedroom, claiming something about learning best where she was used to studying, and Lavinia was a little too breathless to say anything in return from the way her eyes glittered like little chips of onyx and her hair fell like a waterfall touched by Midas himself, or the way her hands came up around her to gesture while she spoke so earnestly and made everything she said seem highly important.

Lucy had come over one Friday night without calling, as she was used to doing, not realizing Lavinia had lessons, as she hadn’t remembered to tell her as of then, and barged directly into her room where she was studying the types of vows and contracts she could sign someone to. She was glad it was Lady Miera she was with at the time, as the woman could talk herself out of any situation, and certainly one with a harmless twelve year old, while Lavinia herself was dead awful at lying to her friends, but it was weeks before Lucy stopped teasing her about her schoolgirl crush.

But who could blame her? She wasn’t blind to how Lucy had looked at her either.

Her life became significantly more busy after that, and Auntie compared her to some type of soldier, every minute of her life scheduled into blocks- wake up, task one, task two, task three- with no space in between. Lavinia didn’t quite agree, but there was little she could do to argue when her aunt wasn’t _wrong_ about it either. The routine was comforting for her though, and she knew Auntie understood that, at least.

Lessons were hard, but life went smoothly, and that was exactly how she liked it.

What she did not like, however, was magical politics. 

Well, no. Politics were fascinating- or they were to her. Lady Miera had written off her lessons to Lucy as political philosophy classes, saying she had been a professor at a nearby university and Lavinia had written her a letter that convinced her to offer private lessons, and, given Lavinia’s track record with lessons, Lucy had believed it instantly. Since her cover story was so similar to reality, she realized she could say anything she wanted about what she learned as long as she posed it as a hypothetical, but she had quickly discovered that the material didn’t interest her friends nearly as much as it interested her.

What she learned as well was that the magical world was actually moving backwards when it came to the less privileged portions of the population. The laws about non-humans, about non-magicals, and about women were all getting harsher by the day. The eldest child, for example, was always meant to inherit, and always had been, but in more recent years, the House of Lords had been pushing for all male heirs. They hadn’t yet succeeded, thank God, but it was ridiculous to think they were still trying, almost a hundred years after normal women had gotten the right to vote and to inherit. 

Her own family, it turned out, was more progressive than some- which was really more  _ traditional _ , as the laws were getting worse rather than better- and not only didn’t care to transfer her rightful inheritance, but also didn’t care much at all. James Potter, she learned, hadn’t actually taken up his lordship at all. It was strange, she thought, that they hadn’t wanted to give everything and then more to their son, but maybe they thought he had too much pressure on him. Or maybe James Potter truly hated politics so much that he didn’t want to involve his son.

Or maybe they had all forgotten, just a bit, that they had a daughter the Heirship could go to. She couldn’t decide which was better.

Everything she learned about the magical world could be summed up in two words- romantic, and backwards. And that combination was a bit confusing, even to Lavinia herself, but there was no other way to describe it.

It seemed somewhat like how in books or movies that she loved, the main characters would all smoke or drink or do drugs to an extent that was clearly damaging, yet something about the way it was written was more addictive than the drug itself, the aching desire to belong in the story pulsing through her veins until it would overtake the mind, just a bit, infecting it with a tiny voice that spoke of good ideas and exciting times and drama.

Ballgowns, for example, the type that women wore back in the seventeen or eighteen hundreds- she couldn’t remember quite which; fashion wasn’t usually her strong suit- were ridiculously obstructive, and they were very similar to even modern magical fashion for women. The fashion wasn’t exactly the same, as magical people all wore robes, not to mention how the styles themselves changed with the year as with normal fashion, but it all fell in a few hundred years behind where the normal world was. 

The laws were entirely discriminatory when it came to anyone who wasn’t exactly the same as the people in charge- meaning magical human men. It had never occurred to her that magical creatures existed, even though she had been meeting with a goblin for years. Astok and Lady Woodward both had talked about magical creatures before, but even the extensive conversations and quizzes about them hadn’t quite let it sink in that the not-people just existed in magical society. They still seemed like hypotheticals, boogey-men, lessons to talk about as though she really were in a political philosophy class. But no, werewolves and vampires existed, they lived as people among people, and the laws were quite cruel to them. She also hadn’t realized before that just as a witch could be born to two non-magical parents, a non-magical child could be born to two magical parents, but apparently all of magical society was awful to the people who were born without magic. 

Lavinia desperately wanted to bang her head against the wall just thinking about it. 

On top of that, there were whole groups of politics on who counted as a “real wizard” and such, all depending on family history and political opinions, rather than just the basic, “Hey, you! Do you have magic?” that she had expected would be the only necessary test.

She had no way of summarizing the ridiculousness of the magical world and their ideas; the wizards who supported squibs, the non-magicals born to magicals, were the same ones who tolerated the magical children of non-magicals only if they perfectly assimilated, and hated non-magicals; the wizards who didn’t like squibs as much loved magicals born to non-magicals and found non-magicals fascinating in the way that one found monkeys in a zoo fascinating- a bit dumb, a more primitive version of humanity, but rather cute all the same as they struggled to do what humans did effortlessly.

But, as Lady Miera reminded her with each complaint, a calculated look in her- truly _sparkling_ , there was no other way to put it, it was just basic observation, _Lucy-_ eyes, she would have a say in it all one day. She would have the power to make it better. And that fit right in with her plan- she would be the best; and she would drag the magical world up to the top with her even if it came kicking and screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I disappeared for a week and I'm back! I should never have gotten three fics going simultaneously, but I love all my stories too much 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the attention this story has gotten- 4400 hits! I never thought I'd get a fic past maybe a few hundred if I was lucky. I love you all for reading my fic, and thank you for all the lovely feedback!!
> 
> So please let me know what you thought! This chapter was a bit of an interlude, but we needed to see her thoughts, and goddamn she thinks a lot; she wouldn't let me write a single full scene until she got her whole ass diary entry on here. What do you think of the characters? Her friends are very much based on my own friend group and I have PlansTM for them in the future. What kind of scenes or interactions would you like to see next chapter? I don't have anything written until her letter comes when she's thirteen, so I'm going to have probably two more chapters before that one, and I'm open to suggestions!
> 
> edit: You're all absolutely right that I walked myself into a plot hole- In an attempt to explore as much of the hp world as possible, all three of my fics have different political systems, different laws, etc, and my dumb ass had the wrong set of notes open. It's been edited out :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavinia goes to a party and gets some answers (these things are however unrelated).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've returned! And I'm going to blame my absence on finals, even if it had more to do with my utter lack of inspiration and motivation. Enjoy!

The school bell was still ringing in her ears when she was startled up from her book to find Lucy draped over the arm of the bench she sat in the middle of, narrowly missing her book as she swung her legs over Lavinia’s lap, Colleen only a few steps behind her.

“Y’know what I heard?” Lucy said conversationally, greetings forgotten. “I heard that Teddy Blankwell is throwing a party this weekend.”

Shifting so her legs wouldn’t go numb, Lavinia tucked her book in her bag and looked up, indulging her friend. “And who is Teddy Blankwell?”

“How do you not know who Teddy Blankwell is?” came the bewildered retort.

“Even I know who that is,” Colleen teased as she pushed Lucy’s legs off the bench so she could sit between them and greeted Lavinia with a kiss on the cheek. “And hello.”

“Teddy Blankwell,” Lucy continued, her eyes glinting, flipping her braids over her shoulder, “is just the most popular boy at St. George’s, and I _know_ Devonte’s mentioned him. And _he’s_ a tenth year.”

“And you think he wants a bunch of eighth years at his party? Don’t be silly, Lucy.”

Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Don’t doubt me. I already got an invite- Teddy's friends with Jacob Cass who’s friends with Jeremy Rhodes, and Jeremy’s liked me since sixth year, so he invited me- and I can bring anyone I want, so obviously you two are coming with me and so is Devonte. And Thomas if he wants to, but he probably won’t. Do you have anything cute, or do we need to go shopping?”

“Shopping,” Colleen interjected. “I have nothing.”

Lavinia nodded. “Same for me. I outgrew all my clothes from last summer; all I have are my winter things, and March is far too late to pull that off.”

“Alright, fine. Lav, when’s the next time you actually have an hour so we can go shopping?” she asked, turning on the puppy dog eyes that no one could turn down.

Her face split into a reluctant smile. “I don’t have ballet tomorrow,” she offered. “We could take the bus to the strip after school.”

“Should we invite Devonte or Thomas?” Colleen checked, pulling her phone from her pocket. 

Lucy shrugged. “Let’s just make it a girls’ day. You know neither of them want to watch us shop.”

It was only slight, but Lavinia could see Colleen’s face fall into a pout. “How about we have a girls’ day but see if they want to meet us at our spot for dinner after?”

“Sounds good to me,” Colleen answered immediately, sending a quick message and slipping her phone back into the pocket of her blazer.

“Perfect,” Lucy replied, a smug smile settling on her features, as it always did when her plans went into motion. “And Mum’s here. Either of you need a ride?”

“Nah, I have Latin tutoring today. I’m just waiting with you guys; I’m heading back in in a few minutes,” she explained.

“You?”

Colleen shook her head. “Dad’s almost here.”

“Okay. Bye then, loves.”

“See you tomorrow, Lucy.”

When the car door had slammed shut and Lucy was out of sight, Lavinia turned to her other friend. “Alright, spill,” she demanded, a playful smile teasing her lips.

“Spill what?” Colleen stammered, a pink stain growing on her pale cheeks.

“Which one is it?” she teased. “You like one of them- you’re much more obvious than you think.”

“I- I don’t,” she protested.

“Is it Devonte?” Lavinia continued. “You two would be so _cute_ , Colleen, why don’t you just go for it?”

“I don’t think he likes _me_ , though,” the other girl argued. “I’d just be embarrassing myself.”

“You’re wrong,” she shot back, her voice a sing-song, tapping her fingers against her friend’s shoulder. “I think he likes you back.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” She stood. “That’s your dad. Just think about it okay?”

“Alright, I guess,” she allowed. “Bye, Lav.”

“Bye Collie.”

She watched her friend drive away and sighed. She had a class to go to. Again.

At least it was Latin, she decided, as she fell into the familiar routine half an hour later, working through her translation. She was far too tired to do ballet, especially with a party to think about.

__________

“Why do I have this scar?”

It had been bothering her for months, years maybe, if she really thought about it, the one constant question in her beautifully formulaic life, like a fly buzzing around her ear while she tried to do her homework- tiny, harmless, but oh so frustrating as minutes turned to hours and nothing had been accomplished through the incessant buzz.

The little thing bothered her far more than it should have, realistically. It never hurt, never peeked through her layered bangs from its home on her temple on the left hand side of her face. It was a harmless little thing really, just a scar, just a mark like anyone else could have.

And yet it wasn’t something anyone else had.

It was perfectly shaped for one- a little lightning bolt, a shape right out of a cartoon or a child’s drawing, something that should have been drawn in some painfully electric yellow colored pencil on a creased scrap of paper, the back of an old testing sheet maybe, surrounded by little round clouds and matching trees with messy flowers in pink and raindrops in blue, hung on a refrigerator in the average suburban home. And instead, it was on her _face._

She was overreacting a bit, honestly; it really wasn’t too bad to have the scar. It could have been a conversation piece if she cared to make up a story about it, and it really did look cool when she outlined it with eyeliner the way Lucy always had her do for parties. It had personality, Lucy would always say. It didn’t deserve to be hidden away under all that hair.

It was a bit annoying at first, but she had asked Colleen about it, and the other girl just laughed.

“She’s just like that,” she had assured Lavinia, the first time Lucy had dragged her out with her scar on bright green display. “Partly, she just wants the drama, and she assumes you do, too, but mostly,” and she had sighed then, leaning in as though it was more of a secret to tell her something sweet than gossipy, “she doesn’t want you to feel insecure about anything. She would hate to think you feel a need to hide anything, so she gets a bit pushy- it’s really out of love, promise.”

And that really was sweet; even if she never checked Colleen’s theory with Lucy, she knew it was true- she had never heard anything more in character for Lucy in the years they’d been friends.

She asked Lady Woodward first- where did she get the scar, why did she have it, why was it _like that_ , but she didn’t have an answer; all she could tell Lavinia was that her brother had one too.

She asked Astok next, and his response was much the same, though he mentioned that her brother’s scar had been from that night, all those years ago.

At least she knew it was because of magic. Auntie was the next person she questioned, and apparently Auntie had always assumed it was magical, but it wasn’t like they had any proof that something had happened to _her_ as a baby.

It was weeks after the rest of the interrogations that she finally tried asking Lady Miera. Astok had mentioned that magical scars were generally from magical curses, rather than just an everyday spell, and, if she were to guess, Lady Miera probably knew a lot of curses.

“Why do I have this scar?” she repeated, seeing the older woman’s confusion at her sudden question, and pulling her hair aside to expose it.

Lady Miera pursed her lips and closed the heavy book she had been holding, some tome about the history of the Wizengamot, letting it fall onto Lavinia’s desk with a thump. “You want to have _that_ conversation today, do you?” she asked, her tone tinged with lighthearted amusement, though Lavinia wasn’t quite sure what was funny.

“What conversation?” she asked, bewildered at her reaction. She turned her chair to face her.

“About the fall of the Dark Lord, of course,” her tutor replied matter-of-factly, pouring herself another cup of tea from the floating pot beside them. “Don’t you have a history tutor to go over this with you?”

Lavinia shook her head. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. I have you for politics, Lady Woodward for etiquette, and Astok for magical training. He teaches me some about history- and it’s very interesting; he’s a wonderful teacher- but I don’t think goblins pay much mind to Wizarding affairs.”

Lady Miera snickered, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “You could say that infinitely, darling, and it would never lose its value.”

Closing her eyes so she wouldn’t roll them, Lavinia prayed that one day she wouldn’t be overcome with laughter every time some proper person said a perfectly normal phrase in an overly proper way. She was sure it would quickly become incredibly annoying once she entered high society.

“How much have you learned about the politics behind the last war?” Lady Miera asked instead. “I don’t think we’ve covered it much at all, since we’ve mostly been focused on current politics and your future duties.”

She nodded. “We haven’t covered the last war at all. Astok’s mentioned it a bit, but not really the politics behind it, more just the magical impact. Lady Woodward doesn’t like to talk about it the couple times it has come up, but we also don’t really have the opportunity to talk about it; she’s my etiquette tutor after all, so it’s not really related.”

“Then I’ve done you a disservice, Heiress. I don’t know why I figured you already knew,” she apologized. “That can be our lesson today, and we’ll probably get to the end of the war next lesson.”

Lavinia’s face fell, and she had to stifle a groan.

“Oh don’t give me that,” Lady Miera teased. “You know perfectly well that one doesn’t learn the end of something before the beginning.”

“I _suppose._ ”

“So,” she continued, ignoring Lavinia’s frustration and settling back in her chair as she always did when she was preparing to tell a story she knew like the back of her hand, and Lavinia had to wonder just what the woman had been up to throughout the war to be able to teach a lesson of it with no preparation. 

“You’ll hear a great many theories about the cause of the second Wizarding war,” Lady Miera warmed, “and it’s doubtful you’ll ever find one that fits just right. Don’t try to pick one and stand by it- you’ll only embarrass yourself.”

Lavinia nodded, her hand groping absently for a journal and pen without breaking her concentration. She jotted down “multiple causes”, reminded of the studies of the World Wars she learned about in normal school, the little acronyms of causes that they had to memorize.

Lady Miera grinned at her attentiveness, pulling her feet up beside her on the chair and resting the cup and saucer on her knee. “You will find, however, that every Wizarding war for hundreds of years has the same backstory: Light against Dark.”

Lavinia chewed on her lip, her pen hovering above her paper hesitantly. “Political factions?” she guessed.

“Somewhat,” Lady Miera allowed. “That is how the Wizengamot is divided, remember- Light and Dark, with a few Neutrals wavering in between. It’s also types of magic, remember.”

“Astok mentioned that,” Lavinia cut in. “He said once I have a wand, I’ll learn Light spells and Dark spells, but mostly Light spells. But he says the magic we work on isn’t either one ‘cause there’s no wand or spell specifically.”

Lady Miera seemed to be covering a smirk, though Lavinia couldn’t fathom why. “Astok is partially correct,” she agreed, her words careful. “When he taught you how to cast the spells, what did he tell you? Do you remember?”

She blinked at the strange question, a seemingly irrelevant thing to the lesson. “Erm, to focus?” she stammered. She cleared her throat, composing herself. “He told me to concentrate,” she rephrased, “on what I was trying to do.”

“And?”

Her brow furrowed in thought, trying to catch the tiny memory from years ago like a butterfly in a net, jumping and running frantically while it gracefully avoided her, likely ignorant even to her fervor. “And on what I wanted?” she realized, a point he had emphasized heavily, though she wasn’t sure if that would change anything for Lady Miera’s understanding, though her triumphant grin seemed to show otherwise.

“Light magic,” she began, “is, in most cases, about particulars. The perfect wand movement, correct pronunciation, the right thought or focus in a few cases. Do you know any examples of those?”

“ _Wingardium_ _Leviosa_ for pronunciation,” she replied automatically. That was one of the few spells that Lady Woodward had taught her about as she gazed distastefully at the magic Lavinia was taught by a goblin. “And that one works for wand movement as well. _Riddikulus_ works for focus- you have to think of something funny. Oh!” she remembered. “And the, erm, Patron charm? Something of the like?”

She could see the heavy smugness in the older woman’s eyes at her response. “Patronus, darling,” she corrected absently. “But you’re absolutely right. Now, these spells and their casting are all about precision. Creating these spells is an intricate process, requiring perfect balance between the weight of a certain movement and the meaning and emphasis on the words, and a million other factors- well, not a million; there are formulas and things, but I never much liked them. These spells are all Light; that’s all it means to be a Light spell, to function from balance, precision, order. Dark spells are the opposite.”

“They need intent,” Lavinia realized, the words escaping her mouth before she had fully thought them. She mentally face-palmed at how long it took her to figure it out. “Single-focused intent is the opposite of balance, no single formula- chaos over order.”

Lady Miera’s grin grew wider as Lavinia wrestled out her theory. “Precisely. Now, Astok is correct in that what you’re essentially doing is controlled accidental magic, so it’s not light or dark, but it certainly falls more into the one category than the other, shall we say. It isn’t the magic we’re so interested in for this discussion, more the politics, but it’s still worth knowing. And as for the factions, well, if there was a time they weren’t fighting, I haven’t heard of it.”

“Why?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Over magic? Or something else?”

“Everything,” Lady Miera replied, but it came out sounding like a question, and a rather hopeless one at that. She sighed. “Forgive me, darling, that’s a good bit of an overstatement.” She frowned for a moment before continuing, the transition to her teaching voice reminding Lavinia of what Auntie claimed she did when she acted proper. “We can lay the differences into three main distinctions. Exclusion versus inclusion, discovery versus safety, and tradition versus progression. The first of each distinction makes up the Dark party, while the latter makes up the Light. Exclusion and inclusion is less of people, and more of ideas, which makes it rather similar to the third distinction. However, you will often hear it talked about as the inclusion or exclusion of Muggleborns. What do you know of Muggleborns?”

“A Muggleborn is the magical child of two non-magical people,” Lavinia recited. “Muggleborns are left ignorant of the Magical world until their thirteenth birthday, at which time Hogwarts sends them their acceptance letter with a school employee to explain magic to them and their family. Their parents or guardians, along with their siblings, are the only exceptions to the statute of secrecy.” She shrugged. “They often have trouble acclimating to the Magical world, and this discomfort has brought the concepts of Christianity, along with many of its practices, and aspects of modern culture to the Magical world.”

“Correct. Exclusion versus inclusion is often simplified to the Dark not wanting to allow Muggleborns into the magical world, and the Light accepting them. Do note that a number of people in the Dark faction do believe this, but they are certainly not the majority, and they bring quite the bad name to a political ideology.”

“If it’s not about Muggleborns, then what is it about?” she asked. “And why do people think it is?”

She glanced over only to find the fading numbers from Lady Miera’s _tempus_. “With Muggleborns come Muggles,” the tutor said tersely, gathering her things and sending the teapot back to its place in the kitchen. “And we, Lavinia, are not Muggles.”

And after that, she had left, leaving Lavinia with more questions than answers. 

_We, Lavinia, are not Muggles._

_We are something far, far greater._

_______

It was that thought which haunted her mind as she pulled up to Teddy Blankwell’s house (a Muggle house) on that Saturday night, following Colleen and Lucy (her Muggle friends) out of the taxi that Devonte had called for them. She held down her skirt (her Muggle skirt) as she climbed out, as the pink denim liked to ride up, and she readjusted the tank top she wore under the sheer shirt with the scratchy rhinestones that Lucy had insisted she wear (more Muggle clothes).

Was she a part of something greater? Was she a part of a people so different from theirs?

The questions echoed around her as she watched in an almost detached state as her friends accepted sodas and greeted people they knew, and she didn’t even notice when the music grew even louder and people began to dance all around her. Their lives were like hers, she argued with herself, their thoughts, their feelings- all the same ones she shared. They went to the same schools, learned the same things, went to the same parties, danced the same dances to the same songs. They lived in the same world.

But they didn’t really, did they? This time the next evening she would be learning about magical politics, right after her magical training, right after her magical etiquette that afternoon. There was this whole other world that she was training for, this whole other life. They would never know about it, and even if they did, they would never get to be a part of it. 

She wasn’t _like_ them. She wasn’t sure if she ever had been.

“Hey,” came a voice, practically shouting over the music, the proximity jolting her from her thoughts. “You’re cute,” the boy said. “Want a drink?”

She smiled tightly. “I’m eleven.”

He blinked, his eyebrows shooting to his forehead. “You’ve suddenly become significantly less cute. Want a drink?” he repeated, a crooked grin gracing his features.

She hesitated, chewing on her lip even as she felt herself smile. “Sure,” she agreed. “But just one, and nothing like….” She gestured to the group of older boys attempting to dance in their drunken state, falling over the couches and onto each other, shouting something over the music that didn’t quite sound like English with every letter slurred into the next.

“Of course not,” he assured her, grabbing a soda off the table beside him and pouring it and a shot of whatever type of alcohol he was serving into a paper cup. “Don’t chug it and you’re fine,” he instructed.

“Deal,” she replied, holding her cup to tap against his. “Cheers.”

“Cheers. And I’m Teddy, by the way, Teddy Blankwell. I don’t think we’ve met,” he hurried to say after he had taken a gulp of his own drink.

“No, we haven’t. I’m Lavinia- Lucy invited me.” She wondered if he even knew Lucy; she was still unsure how she got the invitation in the first place.

Teddy frowned for a moment before it seemed to hit him. “Oh, that girl!” he exclaimed. “The one Jeremy’s in love with.”

“That’s the one,” she said lightly, sipping her drink, grimacing at the fiery bitterness in the aftertaste.

“It’s an acquired taste,” he said with laugh, gesturing to her cup. “There’s a shot of vodka in there. Not my thing personally, but Jacob likes it for some reason, so I pulled out the bottle my parents keep around. They don’t drink, you know,” he added conversationally. “Mormons, the lot of ‘em, but the best collection in town.” He shook his head, his hair falling over his eyes. “Don’t notice a thing.”

Lavinia forced a light laugh- he seemed nice enough, but she really wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “Yeah.”

“Ah, I won’t keep you,” he waved her off. “But don’t just stand there, ‘kay? Dance or something, have fun. I’d hate to have thrown this whole thing only for you to wait around bored.” He flashed her another smile and turned to join the crowd, leaving his empty cup on the table. 

_We, Lavinia, are not Muggles._

She tossed the cup in the garbage once he'd turned away, the soda sloshing out against the bag. “Lucy,” she called, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “Come dance with me, darling.” 

Maybe she could be a Muggle. For a night, at least. Or at least she could pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There ya go! I hope you liked it, and please tell me what you thought! The next chapter should be out pretty soon- I shouldn't disappear for a month again or anything.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I've returned with a new chapter, and several more following soon after. This whole section simply didn't want to happen, so there's only one, maybe two chapters before Lav goes off to Hogwarts. This chapter directly follows the last one (you may want to reread a paragraph or two) and then covers the year or so before the summer before first year.

Perhaps there was some truth in the old saying- ignorance was bliss.

Lady Miera had left almost an hour ago and Lavinia still found herself unable to move from her position reclining in her desk chair and staring up at the ceiling.

She could count every mark or scuff or imperfection above her a million times and the number wouldn’t stick in her mind, so she’d start over, the monotony becoming the typing of calming that was almost painful, so repetitive it beat her mind like a drum on a battlefield, one noise too many, as grounding and necessary as it may have been. 

The walls were barely a shade away from white, but suddenly they seemed closer to black, a rapidly contracting void about to swallow her whole if she wasn’t careful. The heavy darkness set in to consume her, each sweaty, slimy tendril of it brushing against her until she was swimming in something that her frenzied mind could only compare to some evil type of jello. 

She could barely sense her body as she lay, her limbs melting into the nothingness around her, each sensation she felt slipping away as she felt her body float to the crest of the darkness and further, into the night of uncharted territory, though she had a tingling feeling that the map had been made once, a long time ago, and destroyed, for some fool’s idea of the greater good.

Though perhaps not so much of a fool, it seemed, another shudder running through her spine, chilling every bone in her body as though it wished to freeze her from the inside out. Too many eyes watched her in the darkness, eyes she had no chance of watching in return.

That night, all those years ago, was the one topic no one had ever wanted to discuss with her, leaving the conversation to someone else who would undoubtedly leave it to them in return.

She had known only the bare minimum of what was likely the most important event in her life, and for years, that had been enough. The urge to ask, to know, was easily overcome, shoved into a closet in the back of her mind like the outfit she wore to the party last weekend that Auntie didn’t know she owned, something she had used as much as she needed and didn’t need herself or anyone else to think about until she either needed it again or they stumbled upon it of their own volition.

Since she was just a child, she had known just enough to understand why she had been sent away. She knew that a bad man had attacked her family and her brother had defeated him, she knew he would be in danger because of it, she knew it was why she wasn’t as worthy of being raised in the Magical world. 

But she hadn’t known _why_ he had attacked, and though she still didn’t, not entirely, now she knew that her parents had spent years before her birth fighting against the Dark Lord, serving on the front lines of the battlefield, before deciding that the middle of a war was the perfect time to have a child. What reasonable people, weren’t they?

And surprise, surprise, the heroes of the war were primary targets as soon as the genocidal maniac wanted to get personal.

Swallowing the idea that her brother almost died from her parents’ blindness was one thing, finding out that _she_ almost died as well was another. Dark magic could have that effect, she was told. Even if the curse- a Killing curse, a curse one wasn’t supposed to survive- wasn’t aimed at her, the dark magic left a scar on her as well. Her brother’s was similar, she was told except that instead of a thin, white, healed design, he had some pulsing, bloody mark, right in the middle of his head, still holding _something_ , probably, while hers was just a mark from the impact of the dark magic that had been deflected off her brothers skin.

She could have been killed that night- her brother may have been the one to deflect the curse but she was the one who survived being hit by the brunt of the magic. 

She had known, _objectively_ , that it was the Dark Lord who attacked her family that night. She wasn’t stupid, her memory worked just fine, but it was another thing to really truly absorb the fact that the worst magical terrorist in the past few centuries had come to her house when she was still in diapers. 

It wasn’t as though she had any memories of the event; she was barely a year old at the time. She couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse. Did she have some sort of trauma she was unaware of? Were there memories of the event stored somewhere in the back of her brain, controlling her every move from the darkness of her ignorance? 

She felt her fingers tapping absently on her thigh, the same pattern as always that didn’t seem to have any meaning. Could it be a song she knew from the other world? Something her parents would sing or say or maybe the syllables of a spell? 

Questions seemed to be the only thoughts her mind would allow to float to the surface, each little bit of certainty weighed down, cinder blocks tied to the ankles of every reassurance. It was as though it had never quite sunk in before, the gravity of the past she and her brother shared. But even through all the questions, it was as though the piece of the puzzle of her life had finally fallen into its place, a place that had spent every empty moment screaming at her. And now that it was filled she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

“Lavinia?” came a soft voice from outside her door. “Sweetheart, I set the movie up. Did you still want to watch it tonight?”

The sheer kindness in Auntie’s tone almost made her tear up again. Did she have any idea? She couldn’t, realistically, but the worry wouldn’t leave. “Yeah,” she called, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’ll be right out.” Her voice cracked, and the tears finally came, blurring her vision as she clapped her hands over her mouth, holding back the cries. 

“Lav?” Auntie called again. The door opened carefully, her face poking through a little before she walked over, an expression adorning her features somewhere between pitying and disappointed, though clearly not in Lavinia. “Sweetheart, what happened? You haven’t come out since Emilia left. That was hours ago.”

Lavinia sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “She told me about that night,” she told Auntie, covering her mouth again as she was wracked with sobs. “I almost died,” she added, an almost hysterical laugh escaping her mouth.

Auntie flinched back as though she had been struck. “N-no,” she denied, her voice shaking slightly from the forced confidence. “That was Oliver, love. You were-” her voice cracked “-safe.”

Lavinia could only shake her head. “He attacked Oliver,” she allowed, the frenzied smile still in place, though her eyes, wide as saucers, showed nothing but wild fear. “That doesn’t make me safe, Auntie. I had to _survive_ , Auntie, didn’t they know that? Didn’t they care?”

Petunia sighed, resting on the arm of Lavinia’s chair, one hand on her arm, the other wiping the tears from her eyes, even as her cropped hair fell over her own face. “I don’t think they knew, love. I don’t think it had anything to do with a lack of care. They wanted you safe-”

“They wanted Oliver safe,” Lavinia corrected, cutting her off, bitterness seeping though her words. “They wanted _me_ out of the way.”

Petunia paused. “No matter what their reasoning was,” she continued, as though Lavinia hadn’t spoken, “you’re here. You’re here, and you’re safe, and I really think you can be happy.”

“I am happy.”

A soft smile lit Petunia’s face. “Then that’s what matters.” She patted Lavinia’s leg. “Let’s go watch our movie, maybe get some ice cream- I picked some up while you had lessons.”

Lav looked up hopefully. “Black cherry?”

“A whole tub of it,” her aunt agreed. “And a tub of birthday cake, so don’t you complain about me eating any of yours.”

“Birthday cake,” Lavinia scoffed. “I swear, you’re a child on the inside.”

“And you’re a child on the outside,” Petunia returned, hopping off her chair and crossing to the door, turning around before she shut it, her glittering eyes replaced with worry, just as Lavinia’s had been. “Life is going to go on, alright? Even if this is awful right now.”

“It feels like it’s to be awful forever.”

Auntie nodded. “And it’s alright to feel that way. But I think that acknowledging that deep down that’s a very silly feeling doesn’t make all the awful you’re feeling right now any less real. Alright? Just try to remind yourself of that for a bit. I’ll get us some tea and ice cream. Life will go on.”

And it did. Just like Auntie promised.

School kept going, ninth year very similar to eighth, her classes still the easy, boring types everyone was forced to take in their lower years. Spare time was occasionally spent studying, but more often she with her friends, no schoolbooks in sight. She went out with a tenth year girl in her lit class who got her and her friends into a few upper year parties that Auntie liked to huff about in playful disapproval until Lavinia teased that she seemed quite old and matronly when she did that, which resulted in a lot of heatless glares and a lot less disapproval, though Lavinia still preferred to remain on the safe side of all decisions, lest one of them change Auntie’s mind. 

Classes got harder anyway as the year went on, and while breaking it off with Genevieve came a bit more welcome than perhaps was kind given the circumstances, the partying had gotten to a level that Lavinia hadn’t found herself able to keep up with, fun as it may have been. 

Devonte and Colleen finally got together as well, and it was as though the final piece of their friend group had fallen into place. The two had been close to inseparable before, but they had ceased acting awkward about it, and that seemed to be all they had needed.

Lessons continued as well. Magic was coming more naturally to her with time, and it had taken a few epiphanies and entire reforming of her thought process regarding magic in order to make any type of advancement.

It had turned out that thinking of magic as mind control powers was… _highly_ inaccurate, and even more unsuccessful. None of it was done with her mind, which didn’t even make _sense_ , if she was honest, but at least she had figured out the right type of balance for her. The desire to cast a spell, especially wandlessly, and that went double for her first time with each spell, had to be a full body type of want, where each cell of her body was practically tingling with intent. She had to direct all of that feeling into her magical core, wherever that was, and then channel it all into her desire, though she preferred to channel it down to a fingertip so she could physically send the magic out. It was quite a process, and she couldn’t help but sigh every time she could barely complete an exercise she had been doing perfectly for years, but time worked more magic than she had any clue how, and she was back where she had been and far past it in only a few months.

She had gotten to the point in Etiquette and Politics where there was very little left to really learn, and her lessons consisted mainly of practice and recitation, which had inspired her two tutors to give her joint lessons every week, during which she would have to perform various exercises such as giving a proper speech on her views on a certain topic, discussing legislation over a proper dinner, giving a concise and gripping summary of a random historical event over a perfectly performed tea, or any other form of torture the two women thought up. 

In reality, Lavinia found those lessons to be perhaps the most interesting of all, both because it was much more fun to see how what she had learned could actually be used in her life rather than memorizing and rehearsing, and because she got to see her tutors interact, which she found to be so amusing that Auntie had forced her way into one of their luncheons just to see. 

The two Ladies had known each other, though not in any particularly personal manner, for quite a few years, and, while it wouldn’t be quite accurate to say they didn’t get along, they were clearly well practiced in disagreeing with the other in the most aggressively polite manner humanly possible. They each had a very clear and strong image of how they wished Lavinia to act and learn, which aspects of each other they considered worth passing on, and they were delightfully biting on every bit on which they disagreed. 

Lady Miera, for example, while she didn’t ever directly disobey the rules of conduct, loved to toe the line of them, especially when it came to showing much more vivid emotion than was typically proper, and Lady Woodward took every opportunity to throw a backhanded comment in her face, and Lady Miera returned the favor at every show of her usual uptight nature. Lavinia could only say she was grateful that they both had the sense not to put her in the middle of their spats, as she had no clue which of the women she would back, nor how to come up with such cuttingly clever replies on the spot. It was a game each of her tutors was highly skilled at, but she found herself the student in the face of the master in yet another area. 

By the time she got even a moment of time to simply sit down and breathe, it was almost summer. There was little left to do but wait for the magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame my absence on tech week, covid19, and my tendency to write chapters I don't need. I've written about 15k of fourth year! So, yeah. Very helpful of me. My school is on break for a bit so I should have extra time to write, and the next few chapters don't need much more writing, so I'll be back soon, and I hope you enjoyed! Please tell me what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer has arrived! And with summer comes friends... and letters.

“And he told everyone that  _ he _ broke up with  _ me _ . As if he could do any better,” Lucy was recounting, gesturing quite animatedly with her hands around her face. “I could do a million times better than him.”

“But you only wanted him,” Colleen teased, sighing dramatically and draping her hand over her forehead as though she were to faint from the sheer romance of it all.

“I thought maybe he would be interesting,” Lucy sniffed. “It appears I was wrong, nothing more.”

“What was that last part?” Devonte chimed in. “I think you might need to repeat it; I might need to catch it video just to prove it ever happened.”

Lucy’s face morphed into one of outrage, and she immediately swept her hand over the water, leaving both of her friends drenched and glittering in the sun.

Lucy’s family had brought all the girls along with Devonte and Thomas to the lake for the weekend, where Lucy’s grandmother owned a house. Her grandmother was travelling, however; a friend of hers in Germany had given her no choice but to visit, leaving the house empty and open for a few teenagers to take over.

It was still early in summer, and the water was a bit too chilly to be uncomfortable unless it was the heat of the afternoon, but they had taken to lounging on the pool floats they had used more when they were younger, as it gave them the opportunity to stay on the water without actually having to do much more than sunbathe, or, in Lavinia’s and Colleen’s cases, desperately avoid the sun with large floppy hats and so much sunblock that it may have been easier to simply bathe in it.

Lavinia was enjoying herself enough just watching her friends act like idiots from behind Lucy on their float, and allowing her mind to substitute the comments Lady Woodward would have on her conduct, but once Thomas made to splash her- and, in all likelihood, her book, a history on the magical aspects of Rome and Egypt’s interactions, disguised as a piece of historical fiction on Cleopatra that had been quite expensive- she decided it was no longer nearly so amusing.

“If you splash that water at me, I may have to kill you,” she remarked, not looking up, and out of her peripheral vision, she could see Thomas sheepishly returning his hand to his side. She could see Colleen and Lucy giggling at her comment, and, really, her book wasn’t nearly so gripping. She snapped it shut.

“Can I talk to guys for a moment?” 

They all nodded, Lucy turning so she was facing her. 

“I got into this program,” she began. “It’s an invite only sort of thing, and it’s- well it’s not  _ new _ , it’s actually quite old, but they’re recently trying to get it back out there again. It’s a really wonderful program; I’ll get access to loads of advanced materials, and a lot of the lessons I take will be offered as classes or programs there.”

Colleen stuck out her bottom lip in a melodramatic pout. “You’re leaving us? The  _ disrespect _ , darling.”

Lucy piped up, her tone somewhere between disbelief and mild offence. “Is it that new school, the, erm...” 

“The Renaissance Academy for Gifted Children,” Thomas supplied.

“Yea, that. If you ditch us for  _ those _ ponces, I don’t know how we could ever forgive you,” she claimed.

“It’s a boarding school,” Lavinia continued, trying not to make eye contact with any of them in case she were to do something embarrassing, like start crying. “It’s in a renovated castle up in Scotland. I’ll be home for a few weeks in winter, a week in spring, and three months in summer.”

“That’s… it?” Thomas spoke up. “You’re just leaving? How long have you known?”

“I got the invitation about two weeks ago.” It wasn’t technically untrue, just not really the answer to the question he asked. She really had received her Hogwarts letter two weeks ago, and it was one of the strangest mornings of her life.

“Auntie, look!” Lavinia had called. “There’s an owl right on our mailbox. Isn’t that weird?”

Perhaps it was strange to her, but her aunt hadn’t seemed surprised in the least. She had gone a bit pale, but that was the only reaction Lavinia had seen from her except to ask her to hurry outside and take the letter from its leg.

It had taken her only a moment to figure out that Auntie meant her Hogwarts letter- who else but a bunch of wizards would send a letter with an  _ owl _ ? The owl was so weirdly comfortable letting her take the letter from where it was tied to its leg, and Lavinia took advantage of the opportunity to pet the soft bird. It wasn’t everyday she would be able to pet an owl. Though, she supposed, in the magical world, it may very well be an everyday experience. 

The strange letter was surprisingly short, making her wonder if it was simply expected that everyone already knew to expect the letter or if the wizarding world simply couldn’t imagine anyone denying their request. The second seemed more likely, but Lavinia found it a ridiculous notion. She had received letters and brochures from loads of schools- had she not known the Hogwarts letter was coming, she would have simply tossed it in the bin. 

All it read was: 

_ HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  _

_ Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  _

_ Order of Merlin, First Class _

_ Grand Sorc.  _

_ Chf. Warlock,  _

_ Supreme Mugwump _

_ International Confed. of Wizards _

  
  


_ Dear Miss Evans,  _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  _

_ Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.  _

_ Yours sincerely,  _

_ Minerva McGonagall  _

_ Deputy Headmistress  _

And that was the entire letter. That was the entirety, start to finish, of this so called introduction to the magical world. She flipped to the second page.

_ HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  _

_ Uniform _

_ First-year students will require:  _

_ 1.Three sets of plain work robes (black)  _

_ 2.One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  _

_ 3.One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  _

_ 4.One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)  _

_ Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.  _

  
  


_ Course books _

_ All students should have a copy of each of the following:  _

  * _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk_
  * _A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_
  * _Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_
  * _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_
  * _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_
  * _Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_
  * _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_
  * The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble 



_Other equipment:_

  * _1 wand_
  * _1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_
  * _1 set glass or crystal phials_
  * _1 telescope_
  * _1 set brass scales_
  * _Quills and ink for daily use_
  * _Students may also bring and owl OR a cat OR a toad._
  * _Parents are reminded that first years are NOT allowed their own broomsticks._



She felt bad for anyone receiving such a letter who had grown up ignorant of the magical world. It would have seemed like a prank or a bad school at best, a concerning stalker at worst. But Lavinia had not grown up ignorant, not in the least, and so she simply replied to the letter to say she would be attending the school, and moved on.

The most confusing thing about the entire affair was neither the owl post, nor the poorly worded letter, nor even the list of things she would have to acquire before the year started. Two things stuck out to Lavinia: the letter was addressed to Lavinia  _ Evans _ , not Potter, and she had received a letter, rather than her parents coming to pick her up, as they had promised all those years ago.

But, after some discussion with Auntie, she had decided not to harp on it. After all, she now had the opportunity to buy her supplies on her own, avoid an ambush from her birth family, and postpone the inevitable kidnapping that would take place sometime over summer. It was easier to simply ignore it and wait.

Honestly, the bigger worry had been breaking the news to her friends.

“Will you at least be able to text and all?” Devonte asked. “It shouldn’t be too bad if we can still talk all the time.”

“You just want her to keep doing your English essays,” Lucy laughed, flicking more water at him.

He held confident despite the blush creeping onto his cheeks. “So what if I do?” he shot back, making sure to miss Lavinia with the water he sent back. “Not my fault those books make no sense.”

Lavinia rolled her eyes. “You’re one to talk, Luce. We all know I do your French essays.”

“That’s not the point,” she replied primly. “But yea, Lav, you’re still going to be able to text and video call and everything, right?”

Lavinia winced. “We’ll see.”

“Do they have a no phones rule?” Colleen asked, picking up her meaning.

“Not really,” she tried to explain. “They don’t encourage them as resources the way St. Margaret’s does, but I will be bringing mine. It’s more that they don’t actually get service where they are. If there’s any at all, it’ll be really spotty.”

“...And you still chose to go?” Lucy checked, sounding incredulous. “Should I check your temperature or something? Are you being blackmailed?”

The sincerity of Lucy’s concern had Lavinia in fits, shaking so hard with laughter that her hat fell directly off her head, narrowly missing the water. “No, I’m not being blackmailed, love. It’s just a wonderful opportunity. Anyway, I can write letters, too, regardless of cell connection.”

“Letters,” Thomas scoffed. “Maybe you should be checking her for the  _ plague _ , Lucy; that’s about the time period she thinks we live in.”

“Aww, is Thomas embarrassed ‘cause he’s still illiterate?” Lucy shot back, her voice the picture of innocence. “That’s alright love, we’ll make sure we copy down your letters, too.”

“Oh, fuck off, Lu.”

“Snappy comeback,” Colleen cut in, rolling her eyes. “I think letters sound awfully romantic, Lav. I would love to get letters whenever you can send them.”

“Thanks, Collie.”

“How did they know about you anyway?” Devonte asked, pulling his arm back from around Colleen’s shoulders to shade his eyes from the sun, as it was getting close to setting by then. “If it’s invite only, I’m assuming you didn't apply.”

“Scores and the such, I assume,” Lavinia offered. “I don’t know exactly what the criteria is, but the invitation laid everything out quite clearly, and I replied that I would be attending.”

“You’re top of our class by a long shot,” Colleen agreed. “I’m not surprised they want you.” The rest of the group nodded. 

Lavinia sighed in relief. She hated lying to her friends, and she was generally rather awful at it, so it was tricky to keep just enough truth in everything she said that she wouldn’t be obvious- and so she wouldn’t feel quite so awful for it.

“You’ll have fun, I think,” Lucy added in a rare show of seriousness after a few minutes of comfortable silence had lain over them, so quiet that only Lavinia could hear. She had laid down on the float beside her, and they were just staring up at the sky, streaked with pink and purple and orange so vivid it almost hurt to look at. “I love you, and I love that you’re here, but you’re… well, you’re different than us.” Lucy reached over to grab her hand, linking their fingers and tracing her knuckles with her thumb. “You’re meant for bigger things, I think. Maybe you can get that in your secret castle cult.”

Lavinia laughed, resting her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Maybe so. And I promise you’ll hear all about it when I’m home, alright? You’ll hear so much it’ll be as though I was never gone. So much that you’ll be glad when I leave again.”

“I could never,” Lucy teased, but Lavinia could hear the raw honestly behind her words. “And Lav?”

“Yea?”

“If you really mean it about having to send letters, that would be cool, you know? I still think it’s silly or whatever, but…” she shrugged, a little uncomfortable.

“I know,” Lavinia whispered, and the glowing orange sun finally dropped out of view, nothing but cotton candy streaks holding the light for the rest of the night. “I’ll send you a letter every week, every day if you want. I’m not going to forget about you, or any of this. Even in my secret castle cult.”

“Promise?” 

“Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter written for quite a while actually, it just needed a few touch-ups and fillers. The next one is almost done too, and I was thinking about combining it, but that would have been like 7k words, and I'd rather not set an expectation. So you'll see that one soon, and I hope you enjoyed! Tell me what you thought and what you'd like to see! Next up: Diagon Alley!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping trip!

It had been a couple years since Lavinia had been to Diagon Alley through any normal means. Astok would bring her with something called a portkey, and that only took her directly into Gringotts as it was. Every once in a while, they would wander down to the bookstore, or to the ice cream shop to see Mr. Fortescue, but those were both very short treks, and never in her experience had it been so crowded as it was that day. Summer, she supposed, would realistically be the most popular time to go out, as it was very nice out and all the students were home from school, but she hadn’t expected the sheer number of people in one small district. 

It was like a shopping mall before Christmas but worse, because every person had cauldrons and trunks filled with books and supplies floating behind them, and school shopping was apparently a full family tradition, as opposed to the online purchases and trip to the store the night before school started that she and Auntie preferred. It also struck her as strange that for a place so well laid out as an outdoor mall, there were no shopping trolleys or anything similar, leaving everyone to carry everything or magick it to float around them.

They had gone the weekend after she had gotten back from the lake, and she could only figure that letters went out in groups, one in June like her, one in July, and one in August, as it was the only way she could explain why so many people were shopping over two months before school began.

Auntie had opted against shopping with her, instead sitting outside at a little cafe and bakery called Cauldron’s Concoctions where Lavinia could easily find her. She had been in Diagon enough times to feel comfortable and have no worries about getting lost- it was only one street after all, with a handful of short offshoots that had no offshoots of their own. It would take an idiot to get anything more than mildly turned around in Diagon.

That did not, however, make it any easier to navigate the hoards of concerned parents and shouting children, and Lavinia gripped her list a bit tighter as she wove through the crowd, finally pushing into her first stop: robes.

Madam Malkin’s Robes For All Occasions seemed like the most popular robes shop she had passed, not to mention the large advertisement behind the window for unsorted Hogwarts robes. She had planned her outing on purpose to take place right during all the normal lunch hours in hopes that a sizeable fraction of the crowd would be eating at any given time, and her plan seemed to have worked, given that, while each of the fitting rooms appeared to be full, the actual shop lacked any sort of line.

“Back here, dearie!” a woman she had to assume was Madam Malkin called. Popping her head out from behind a curtain she added, “You don’t mind sharing with a boy, do you? You won’t be undressed or anything, and it’ll save my own time.”

“That’s quite alright, ma’am,” Lavinia replied politely.

“What are you ‘ere for today?”

“Erm, school robes, unsorted. And some casual robes. Everyday, I suppose,” she clarified, noticing a sign to her right.

“Perfect. First year?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The woman nodded sharply. Lavinia followed her into the back room and stood on the slight stand that she was pointed to. She turned to ask what she was to do, but the woman had already disappeared into the front room. She sighed.

“Merry meet,” came a voice from her left. 

She turned back towards it and was faced with a boy about her age, if she were to guess, with white blond hair and paler skin. “Merry meet.”

“Are you off to Hogwarts, too?” he asked, gesturing at her vaguely.

She offered a smile. “Yes, first year. And yourself?”

He smiled back. “Same for me. Do you know what house you’ll be in?” She opened her mouth to reply, but he kept going. “I figure I’m a shoe-in for Slytherin; my family always goes to Slytherin. I’m Draco Malfoy, by the way. Er, Heir Draco to the Most Ancient House of Malfoy.”

She gave a small curtsey at his introduction. “A pleasure to meet you, Heir Malfoy. I’m Lavinia…” she faltered, “Evans.”

He nodded back to her curtsey, but he frowned at her name. “Mud-Muggleborn?” he asked, grimacing.

She shook her head. “Halfblood, I understand.”

“Ah.” He seemed to relax a bit.

“As for house,” she added, remembering his question and not wanting to continue talking about blood, or, god forbid, family, “I’m really not sure. I mean, obviously none of us  _ know _ until the actual sorting, so…” she trailed off.

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I suppose so. Though you can usually have a pretty good guess.”

He really was curious, wasn’t he. “Probably not Gryffindor,” she allowed. “And probably not Hufflepuff. The former sounds like a mess from what I’ve heard, and while the latter sounds quite nice, I don’t think I particularly fit the values.”

“Hufflepuff is for the duffers,” he argued. “And Gryffindor’s for the idiots.”

She barely held in a laugh. “I don’t know- I mean, I didn’t grow up here- but Hufflepuff really doesn’t sound too bad. I mean hard work and loyalty- those aren’t too different from Slytherin traits. Patience and honesty, however-” she left it at that and shrugged slightly.

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe. So Slytherin or Ravenclaw for you, then. I do hope to see you in Slytherin.”

She laughed. “I do believe you may be a bit biased on that account, Heir Malfoy.”

He let out a huff of laughter of his own. “Fair enough.” He straightened slightly and puffed his chest. “Besides,” he added confidently, “it’s not a sin to want a lovely lady to remain close by.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks at his comment, and she ducked her head to hide it. “You flatter me, Heir Malfoy.”

He quirked a brow. “Twas my intention, Miss Evans.”

She was about to reply when the seamstress came back. “Ah, I see you two have become friendly,” she said with a motherly smile. “Here, Miss Evans, let me take your measurements.”

Madam Malkin waved her wand and a tape measure flew up and began wrapping around Lavinia in every direction. A quill took notes on a small pad of paper in the seamstress’s hand. 

“Color and style.” she demanded.

Lavinia frowned. “What?”

“For your robes, dearie,” she clarified.

That didn’t answer much.

“School robes are all black and open, so as to fit over the uniform,” Heir Malfoy cut in, seeing her hesitation. “They’re lined with grey, and the lining changes magically once you’re sorted into a house. I’m assuming you also asked for everyday robes, and those can come in any color and style you choose. If they’re open robes, I’d be careful, though. You’d want a more neutral color and probably not much of a pattern so it’ll match the clothes you wear underneath. Closed robes it doesn’t matter.”

“Thank you,” she told him honestly, hoping to convey her gratitude in her eyes. “Then, erm…”

“I can call my mother back if you’d like,” Heir Malfoy offered. “I’m sure she’d love to help.”

Lav’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to be an intrusion.”

He only shook his head. “Mother would love to get to dress up a girl. It’s only me at home.”

She glanced at him uncertainly. “If you’re really sure, then yes, the assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

He nodded and strode towards the front room with confidence. A few moments later, a gorgeous woman with the same coloring as his, though her long hair was pulled into a dignified bun, followed Heir Malfoy into the room. 

A few moments later she spoke. “This is Miss Evans, I presume?” How was her voice so perfect? Operatic, almost, but perhaps more the song a woman sang as she killed someone in their sleep.

“Yes ma’am,” she answered, curtseying politely. 

Heir Malfoy rushed to add, “Forgive me. Miss Evans, this is my mother, Lady Narcissa of the Most Ancient House of Malfoy.”

“Merry meet, Lady Malfoy,” she greeted, curtseying again. “If it’s not too much of a bother, well- you see, I’ve never actually bought robes before. I’m a halfblood, but I’m Muggle raised, you see. And I was hoping. if it’s not too much trouble, that you could help me choose the everyday robes?”

The woman’s eyes lit up. “Of course, Miss Evans. Now let me see…” she trailed off as she began circling Lavinia, looking closely at her face and figure. Lav was quite sure she was blushing, and a look over at Heir Malfoy had his face turning red as well.

“I would say your best bets for everyday robes would be open robes, as they are more common, and you’re likely to feel more comfortable with clothes more similar to Muggle styles underneath.” She scanned through a catalog quickly and turned to Madam Malkin. “Open robes in style C in black, open robes in style F in wine paisley and forest green herringbone, open robes in style L in midnight blue and doe, open robes in style T in bluebird.”

Madam Malkin bobbed a slight curtsey. “Got that. I can have all of these for both children done in about two hours; will you be travellin’ back together?”

Lav shook her head. “Oh, er-”

“Of course,” Lady Malfoy cut in smoothly. “We’ll see you in two hours, Madam.”

They left the seamstress’s shop together, Lav trying her best not to look like an obedient puppy following Lady Malfoy.

“Are you here with anyone, Miss Evans?” she asked.

“My auntie,” she nodded. “She’s a Muggle, though.”

She could see Lady Malfoy’s face tighten in displeasure, but her demeanor didn’t change. “Well, why don’t we go find this Muggle aunt of yours.”

Lav smiled and led the way to the coffee shop down the street where Aunt Petunia sat outside at a small table holding a cappuccino in one hand and a novel in the other.

“Auntie,” Lav called, making her head jerk out of her book. “Auntie, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Lady Narcissa and Heir Draco of the Most Ancient House of Malfoy. They assisted me at the robes shop. Heir Malfoy, my Lady, this is my aunt, Petunia Evans.”

Petunia stood and offered Lady Malfoy her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am. I’m Petunia Evans. And thank you for helping my niece; I’ve been to the magical world, but not nearly enough to be much help to her.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Lady Malfoy assured her. “Though if I may ask, why is it that you’re raising Miss Evans, if she’s a halfblood as she claims?”

Petunia just glared at her niece, but there was no heat behind it. “Lavinia, why is it that you insist on making me explain who you are?”

Both Malfoys’ brows shot up. Lavinia was having a hard time not rolling her eyes.

“It’s not as though I was  _ hiding _ who I am, Auntie,” she denied primly. “I simply omitted a few pertinent details.” She turned to the Malfoys. “Please forgive me-I am Heiress Lavinia of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter. I live with my aunt in the Muggle world, and there, my legal name is Lavinia Evans.”

She never would have expected to leave two such dignified people speechless.

“You mean like the  _ Potter _ Potters?” Heir Malfoy blurted out, slapping a hand over his mouth after uttering such a sentence. “Erm, forgive me. I mean to say, I don’t suppose you refer to the same Potters as the Boy-Who-Lived, do you?”

“One and the same,” she replied, forcing a casual lilt into her tone. “Oliver is my twin brother.”

“I was… under the impression,” Lady Malfoy began delicately, “as I believe we all were, that the Potter girl had been taken from this world on Samhain of ‘04. Most are likely unaware of your birth at all.”

Lav’s eyebrows shot up. “It appears the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, Lady Malfoy,” she quoted with a smirk.

The Malfoys exchanged glances of confusion while Lav and Petunia snickered.

“Forgive me milady, it’s a Muggle reference,” Lavinia explained, feeling a bit awkward under the older woman’s gaze.

Lady Malfoy simply nodded, addressing Petunia. “I have no judgement for your choice not to attempt to shop with your niece in the magical world, but, as it’s becoming quite crowded, and Heiress Potter seems somewhat lost, it would be our pleasure to help her finish her school shopping. She and my son will be in the same year at Hogwarts; it will really be no trouble at all.

Auntie’s smile had never looked so relieved. “I’m very grateful for your offer, Lady Malfoy. I’d feel a lot better knowing she was with someone who knows what they’re doing here, seeing as I certainly can’t fill that position.”

“Only time will show that. And please, just Narcissa,” she added after a moment, causing Heir Malfoy to choke, though he quickly hid it behind a cough.

“Petunia,” Auntie returned, nodding in acknowledgement, though she was somewhat distracted by Heir Malfoy’s sudden coughing fit. Lavinia sighed internally- she would have to explain to Auntie why Lady Malfoy’s offer was such a great deal.

Luckily, Lady Malfoy seemed to be perfectly practiced in showing nothing but a pleasant expression, and Auntie didn’t seem to notice the slight amusement in her eyes. “In that case, we had best be off. The crowds wait for no one. We’ll return here in a few hours and perhaps we can all have dinner together? There a lovely little French restaurant right nearby if you know where to go.”

Auntie seemed to be hesitating, likely somewhat disconcerted by how quickly Lady Malfoy could take over a room, and somewhat by the price that was to be expected from a restaurant the Lady called “lovely”.

“We’d be delighted,” Lavinia cut in, sending a glance at Auntie. After all, she had just taken money out of the Potter accounts- as long as she was careful with her spending, she would likely have enough left for dinner. “I’ll see you later, Auntie.”

“See you later, dear,” Auntie returned, letting Lavinia kiss her cheek and snag a sip of her coffee before leaving. By the time Lavinia looked back a few moments later, Petunia was already back to her book.

“Where are we off to?” Lavinia asked, as politely as she could through her excitement.

Lady Malfoy turned to her, her eyes glimmering. “I think perhaps we should go to get your wands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Posting twice in one day? Well, don't expect it to happen again. (Though it might. Social distancing is boring and I'm very bad at it) 
> 
> This story has over 10,000 hits and almost 1000 kudos, and honestly, I could not be more happy and grateful to all you guys who have read this. I was shocked to realize anyone was reading it at all. But anyone who just started reading it is just in time! Lav has showed up to the magical world and she has Plans!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, I'll see you soon, and please tell me what you thought! Comments and kudos give me motivation


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wands, books, clothes, and animals are acquired, characters are developed, our heroine is incredibly frustrated with cryptic instructions, and, well- what else is new?
> 
> Oh yeah, the purebloods and muggles are sharing escargot.

Ollivanders’ wand shop was perhaps the only shop in a mile radius that didn’t have a line creeping out the door, which made sense once she thought about it, as you really only needed to buy a wand once.

The sign on the door claimed that the shop had been open since 382BC, and Lavinia couldn’t help but wonder if the owners had simply kept the original building. The shop was a small thing, made mainly of splitting wood, but with a few bricks in seemingly random locations, which she assumed were used for repairs. White paint was crumbling as they watched, a sloppy coat having been applied likely decades ago, if not centuries.

The air around the shop seemed to have been sucked of all the latent sweetness that seemed to hang around Diagon, instead settling for a dusty sort of heaviness, the kind that pressed over Lavinia in a way that was both somewhat comforting and highly disturbing, as though anyone or anything could be hiding in it. Nothing about the environment seemed to have any sort of ill intent, but she couldn’t help but check over her shoulder as they rounded the building the entrance, just in case. 

She hurried as best she could without running or passing her companions, and the click of the door behind the party once they were inside the shop gave Lavinia more relief than she perhaps wished to admit. 

The shop was filled to the brim with boxes, practically overflowing with them as they lay stacked on the shelves, the tables, the cabinets- of which there seemed almost an infinite number, each one entirely different from the next- even just stacked upon each other in towers that reached almost to the ceiling. 

“Lady Malfoy,” came the automatic greeting, and Lavinia spent a few embarrassing moments whipping around to find the source of the sound. Lady Malfoy simply rolled her eyes, long since accustomed to such antics, and Heir Malfoy’s eyes had grown wide, expectant.

“Good afternoon, Garrick,” Lady Malfoy replied, pretending to inspect her nails in a way so similar to how Lucy did when she wished to look dramatic that it almost hurt. “Perhaps you could deign to pop your head out for even a moment? You must have learned by now that hiding among your woods and wands is no way to conduct a proper business. Gregorovitch, you know, has a lovely little shop just down in London, and-”

At her words, a spindly looking old man jumped up from behind a counter that Lavinia hadn’t noticed among all the stacks of boxes, with white, wiry hair sticking out from all sides as though he had been electrocuted. 

“But of course,” he cut in, his voice the slow type of rough that would have made Lavinia assume he had been chain-smoking since his teens if he hadn’t been a wizard. “The young Mister Malfoy, and- oh- is that the young Miss Potter I see?” he practically croaked as he approached, his gaze locked directly on Lavinia. His manners could only be described as those of a cockroach, all wriggling, jerky movement and the shuddering rustle against what should have been leaves but was only the rotting floors of his shop, a likely harmless but no less intrusive, no less disturbing presence, and Lavinia couldn’t help but be further disturbed by her following hopes that the encounter would be followed by the usual crunching squelch beneath the shoe of the visitor.

Every step he took forward had Lavinia taking one backwards, her heartbeat practically audible in the quiet around her. Even as her breath shortened, she kept her chin raised, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “Merry meet, Mr. Ollivander,” she breathed, doing her best to keep her voice steady. “I’m here for my wand.”

And as if a switch had been flipped, he snapped back, his eyes breaking from her own and passing onto Heir Malfoy. “I remember when your father was here, boy, for his own wand. Elm and dragon heartstring, if memory has yet to fail me. Oh yes, a picky wand, very strong in the right hands, tendency towards the extremes- one can commit acts of great good or great evil with that wand.” He leaned forward, and Lavinia could hear Heir Malfoy’s breath catch. “Tell me, boy, which has your father strayed towards over these years? The good, or the-”

“Garrick.” 

“Yes, yes, a wand for the young Mister Malfoy,” he dismissed, onto the next subject so quickly Lavinia had barely time to realize he had been on the last. 

Ollivander grabbed a box from the shelf behind him and whipped out the wand within. “Eleven inches, unicorn wrapped with elm, just like your father-” and here, Heir Malfoy winced. “A bit whippy. Here, give it a wave.”

Heir Malfoy took the wand hesitantly, and the rest of the room fell silent as he grimaced, just slightly, as though the wand felt somehow wrong in his hands, and waved it in a loose circle.

For a moment, Lavinia couldn’t see anything different, but then she finally caught sight of the smoke rising from the wandmaker’s hair, having been fried black by the magic. 

“Perhaps not,” he hurried to say, brushing a hand over his hair, though it did nothing to help. “Curious, curious, I had thought it would… but no. This one, perhaps, Hawthorn,” he offered, holding out another wand. Heir Malfoy was once again cautious as he reached for the wand, despite his apparent amusement at the wandmaker’s predicament. However, before he could do more than brush the wand with the tips of his fingers, it was pulled away. Heir Malfoy shot a worried look at Lavinia. “No, no, no,” Ollivander muttered. “Not that one either. Maybe…”

He continued to mutter to himself as he walked, quite quickly, to the back room of his shop, where he rummaged for quite a while, and the rest of the company winced with each wand box he tossed over his shoulder, letting it clatter to the ground with a loud rap.

Lavinia looked to Heir Malfoy and saw him fidgeting with the collar of his robes, which she realized rather randomly were quite similar to the togas her Latin tutor had shown her. He met her eyes once he felt her watching, and she sent him a soft smile, hoping to calm his nerves. 

“Mother warned me he was strange,” he whispered, forcing a bit of light humor into his tone and his hands moved to tap on his leg. “I would never have guessed that this was what she meant.”

She stepped closer so Lady Malfoy wouldn’t hear their comments and widened her grin. “I think anyone capable to dreaming up a man like that without meeting him would be likely as crazy as he is.”

A smug look flashed in her eyes as her friend laughed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and his eyes filled to the brim with mirth.

“Hornbeam,” Ollivander suddenly exclaimed, making both of them jump from his sudden reappearance. “Hornbeam and unicorn hair, nine and three quarters inches, a bit springy, though not terribly so. Go on,” he urged, as Heir Malfoy took hold of the wand. “Give it a swish.”

Lavinia could see Heir Malfoy’s entire demeanor relax as he held the wand, and when he waved it in a small, controlled spiral, it was with more confidence than she had seen in him before. 

Sparks flew from the wand, gold and green and purple, a few of them falling to rest on Lavinia like glitter or snow. Heir Malfoy smiled. 

“This one.”

“Most certainly so,” the wandmaker agreed, his eyes glimmering with  _ something _ that Lavinia couldn’t quite name. “A powerful wand, this one is,” he began to explain as he led them to the register to pay. “Unicorn hair like the others- I figured it would be unicorn for you. Less prone to flamboyance than dragon heartstring tends to be, though no less powerful, especially paired with hornbeam like this one is. That’ll be seven galleons ma’am,” he cut himself off, holding out his hand with the receipt. “Thank you. Now, where was I?”

“Ah, yes, hornbeam. My own wand is hornbeam, you know, a really lovely wood. Leans towards those with a passion, a path- my father once called it, quite fondly, spare your worries, an obsession.” He looked at Heir Malfoy rather curiously. “Many wandmakers say that hornbeam is the wand for a leader, but I’ve found the opposite to be true in rather the majority of cases. Paired with  _ unicorn _ of all things, especially. No, Mister Malfoy, you’ve found yourself with the wand of the strongest, truest follower there is. Very curious.” Heir Malfoy swallowed. “Very, very curious.”

Silence hung heavy in the air for a few moments after that, and a glance at Heir Malfoy had Lavinia quite worried for her friend.

“Well,” Lady Malfoy finally broke in, her voice the icy pleasantry that she had learned came naturally to the woman. “Why don’t we find Heiress Potter’s wand now, hm? We don’t have all day to spend in one shop, Garrick, please do keep that in mind.”

“Right, right,” he rushed to say. “Miss Potter, ah yes. I remember when your parents came to get their wands, twenty years ago. You know, your mother favors a-”

“I don’t particularly need a history lesson, Mr. Ollivander,” Lavinia interrupted through somewhat clenched teeth, feeling the heat return to her cheeks. “This is only my second stop today, and I’d really rather get it done quickly, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, of course, always to the point, you Potters are,” Ollivander chortled, waving his finger.

She sneered, humming noncommittally, and, thank God, he didn’t take anymore time before grabbing a wand.

“Eleven inches, dragon heartstring- mahogany, just like your fa… well,” he introduced, brandishing the wand before her. “A loyal wand, quite firm, though it’s prone to flights of righteous fancy should the mood strike.”

Lavinia waved the wand, put off a bit by the description, as nothing he had said seemed to match her, and unsure of what exactly she should be feeling. Heir Malfoy had visibly reacted to each wand he had picked up, but the mahogany wand just felt like wood in her hand, no more than a rather shiny twig she could have lifted from the ground. She waved it in a sweeping motion, and it let out a few sparks, orange, barely glowing little things that sputtered the ground as quickly as it had released them.

“I don’t think this one’s for me, sir,” she informed him politely, carefully setting the wand back in the box.

“No, no, not at all,” he agreed. “Didn’t have an averse reaction, however, so we may be on the right path. Try this one,” he told her, grabbing a wand from somewhere behind him. “Fir and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches.”

As soon as her fingers brushed the white wand, she understood. The wand felt, well, not  _ warm _ exactly, not in the way that a fire felt warm or the sun in the heat of the day. It was warm in the way that a cup of strong coffee was warm on a cold morning, warm like a kiss on the forehead before she went off alone, warm in the sense only of melting, of thawing, the weakest shining sun still melting the snow on Valentine’s day. 

She smiled as she waved the wand, a little figure eight in the air, but all that came out was a steady stream of smoke. It was quite pretty, and quite controlled, more like the perfect smoke rings from Colleen’s father’s cigars than the last hopeless puffs of soot from a put out candle.

But the lack of a larger reaction came as somewhat of a shock, given the power she had felt from the wand. She waved it again, but once again it was as though the power had surged to the tip of the wand and then stopped. She went to try again but Ollivander stopped her.

“The core is wrong for you, Miss Potter,” he explained, turning from her and walking along the wall of wands, but not pausing his explanation. “What you are feeling is the fir reacting to your magic. The wood wants to work, but the wand will not. I’ll have to find you another, which one, which one- ah!”

He crossed back to her and held out a wand. “This one, perhaps? Cypress and phoenix feather. Cypress,” he continued, as she picked up the wand and split her focus between him and the sensation, “is a wood somewhat similar to fir. Fir is for the steadfast, the survivors, often either the leaders or the independent. Cypress is similar in the first aspect, but leans further towards the heroes, the self-sacrificial, the over-invested, though not to the extent of, say, holly. Phoenix feathers are the strongest but trickiest of the cores I work with personally.”

The wand was strange, and she wasn’t sure what to say on it past that. It felt strange to the touch, simultaneously too hot and too cold and maybe a bit dry, but something about the wand pulled, her, tugged directly at her magic, and she had to know, she just had to, what kind of magic it would produce if she just-

Ollivander grabbed the wand.

-tried.

“The wood is reacting very poorly with your magic, Miss Potter, very poorly indeed,” he told her, the words falling out very quickly in a bit of a jumble. “But the phoenix feather is definitely the core for you. You felt a pull, did you not?”

Lavinia nodded, unsure how her answer could help as the man was clearly already on a mission, pushing box after box out of the way of his path.

It was a minute or so until he returned, adjusting a pair of thin wire glasses on his nose that he hadn’t been wearing before. “Now, I’m just testing a theory here, he warned her, holding out another wand bu jerking it away before she could take it. “Focus not on the wood but on the core. Focus on your magic, just to satisfy an old man’s curiosity.”

She nodded again, sharply, and took the wand, trying to ignore the awful feeling that washed over her as she took it, a feeling somewhat like a fever, the sweats and chills simultaneously, but instead of sweats it was only a dry fire scalding her shivering skin. She waved the wand slightly, only experimentally, just enough that she could feel her magic rushing into the wand, and  _ oh _ , that was the one she had been waiting for.

Her nods became a bit more vigorous. “This one, please, sir.” She  _ had _ to have that wand, she just had to.

The old man’s smile showed a few too many teeth, but it was gone and he had turned away, taking the wand with him, before she could say anything else. “Every once in a while,” he told them somewhat absently, “it happens that a core bonds with a witch or wizard, but the wand as a whole does not. It’s unusual, certainly, but not any one-of-a-kind type of occurrence. And in that case-” he lifted the tip of his own wand to the tip of the holly wand- “you simply have to remove the core-” here, he ran his wand down the edge of the other, leaving a thin, glowing cut in the wand- “and place it in a new case.” He gingerly, very gingerly, pulled the feather from the wand, and the wood mended itself as the feather was removed. “I do believe it will be a fir casing for you, Miss Potter, but just in case…”

He trailed off, placing the feather on the nearest table beside the wood, and disappeared to the back room yet again. Luckily, it only took a few boxes cast to the floor for him to return, a small piece of wood in hand. 

“Pink ivorywood,” he announced, looking at them expectantly as though that should mean something to them. When his excitement garnered no response but blank confusion, he seemed to hold back an eyeroll and continued. “I received this cut from a friend of mine, another wandmaker, when he was in South Africa last year. It has a history there of only being used for ceremonial purposes, or in the staffs of chiefs, making any wand it’s used in quite good for ritual magic. It’s a bit flighty at times, often finding a home with those worried not quite about appearance but rather the aesthetic nature of things. A dangerous focus, at times, but rarely an escapable one.”

_ A morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs _ , Lavinia’s mind supplied rather unhelpfully.

She couldn’t help but acknowledge how well it fit her, however.

The wood hadn’t been fashioned into any type of wand, and it had no core, so she couldn’t feel any pull on her magic, but wand wood was, as Ollivander described in a rather long-winded rant immediately after she took the cut from him, quite different from just the wood one could find anywhere. Nature held magic, he said, and only part of a tree would hold enough magic to form a functional wand. 

It felt a bit like coming home, she decided, if the other wood felt like leaving. It felt complete.

“Does it feel right?” Ollivander asked, leaning in almost a bit too close as curiosity got the better of him.

“Yes.”

He snapped back and smiled, his ominous expectance replaced by cheery smugness. “Perfect. It should only take half an hour or so for all these to make a wand-most of that is just waiting, of course, but you can’t rush the magic- so feel free to wait here or get another shop finished.”

“We’ll return within the hour, Garrick,” Lady Malfoy replied immediately. “Draco, Heiress, we really must be going. Flourish and Blotts is right across the way, and it would do to get that done quickly.”

Lavinia murmured her thanks to Ollivander and rushed to join Lady Malfoy, who had already gotten out of the shop.

“I think he’s gone a bit mad,” Heir Malfoy told his mother as soon as they were out of earshot.

Lady Malfoy looked at him in surprise. “Of course he has, and far more than a bit, darling. Surrounded by that much latent magic all the time… it’s a wonder he’s as present as he is.”

And that definitely said something.

Flourish and Blotts seemed like mob storm after the wand shop, but Lady Malfoy was clearly more powerful than Lavinia had realized, even after her study of magical nobility and families. The room cleared around her, and she cut past the entire line to pick up two sets of first year textbooks, paying for both from a small pouch she carried that held far more galleons than could fit by any normal means. 

Lavinia purchased a small bag that she could only assume had the same charms as Lady Malfoy’s coin purse that could carry all her books without expanding or growing heavier than it would if it held only one. 

“Heir Malfoy?” she asked, holding up a book she had found in the back, as there were still a few minutes left to browse. “Do you know what occlumency and legilimency are?”

His brows shot up. “Yea- er- yes, I do. Legilimency is the art of entering someone else’s mind, and occlumency is the art of shielding your own.”

It was her turn to be surprised. “There’s magical mind reading?”

A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “My godfather would hate you for saying that,” he told her, “and he would hate me for telling you that yes, that’s essentially what it is.”

“What would he want you to say?”

“That legilimency is the subtle art of slipping into the mind, reading the resonance, absorbing the memories, understanding the auras, controlling the chemicals,” he quoted dramatically, gesturing wildly around his face and widening his eyes. Lavinia couldn’t help but giggle.

He dropped the act abruptly, leaving a fond smile in its place. “Or something like that, I’d assume. He’s very… like that.”

“He sounds nice,” Lavinia tried, grimacing internally at how unattentive her reply sounded. 

“Nice?” Heir Malfoy laughed. “Certainly not.”

“You make it sound like he cares for you, though,” she amended. “That sounds nice at least.”

“Yea. He’s like my third parent a lot of the time,” he admitted. “You two would probably get along if he ever got over you being a Potter.” He shrugged, then winced at the improper motion. “You’re unlikely to meet, anyways. He’s practically a recluse these days- studies potions and sells them on the side to get the money.”

She opened her mouth to ask about his aversion to Potters, an aversion he would hopefully overlook in regards to her should they meet, as it was one she shared, but Heir Malfoy continued speaking.

“But for occlumency and legilimency, I wouldn’t worry too much about them if I were you. They’re both highly advanced skills to learn, and not many people know them as it is. Pick up the one on occlumency when you’re a few years older. Legilimency on children is illegal anyways except for extreme medical reasons, and probably in court, though don’t quote me on the second.”

The skills both seemed extremely tempting, but in the end she decided to let it go. She had already found a book on the last magical war, a book on the history of the almost pendulum that Light and Dark appeared to be power-wise in the magical world, a book of the most commonly used spells in order from beginner level to advanced, and a novel that sounded like a magical equivalent of Austen’s Sense and Sensibility that Auntie would probably like if she was willing to give it a try, and it would probably shed a bit of light on the class dynamics that she hadn’t quite figured out. There were only so many books one girl could buy.

By the time Lavinia had purchased her extra books, it was time to pick up her wand. 

Luckily, their second visit to Ollivanders’ was much shorter than the first. All she really had to do was make sure there was nothing wrong with the wand and pay, though the wandmaker insisted on giving her another cryptic speech, of which she only really remembered one part.

“I somewhat expected this feather to go to your brother,” he had told her, which started her off rather offended until he continued. “See, the phoenix who gave this feather gave one other, and only one other, which is in itself rare. But the other feather, well. The other feather is contained in the wand of none other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself.”

That information had already made Lavinia quite uncomfortable, and she could see that Lady and Heir Malfoy had much the same reactions, so she had rushed to count the money out for her wand and practically throw it at the old man.

It was when she was about to turn and run that he continued. “And that must be where it hit you. I had always wondered- they called me crazy, but I always wondered- what happened to the other? What happened to the twin, to the girl? No one makes it out of that much dark magic unscathed, even if they don’t find themselves the target, and you’re no exception.” He laughed, an almost threatening, wet sort of coughing laugh. “What happened to the other, eh? Worse end of the deal, I’d say, getting hit with that much magical excess. What happened to the other indeed.”

Needless to say, it was a matter of seconds before Lavinia was out of the shop.

Even taking the cryptic messages and creepy old men into account, it was worth it to have her wand. Its very presence was comforting from where it rested in the beautiful white leather sheath Lady Malfoy had bought for her on the inside of her left arm, ready to be flicked out whenever she should need it. The wand was the cold white of the fir, with a handle marked off by the smooth change to the pink wood and little stripes of pink inlaid into the tip longwise and few small inlays along the length, inverse inlays of fir in the handle.

They returned to Madam Malkin’s next, where all the robes were ready to be picked up as well. Robes as a concept still struck her as somewhat silly, but she couldn’t deny that the styles Lady Malfoy had picked out for her were really quite lovely. The seamstress had even thrown an extra robe in for only a galleon because she had decided that exact shade of silvery white with the little bits of iridescence was simply  _ made _ for Lavinia, and well she couldn’t just say  _ no _ , and so on, and she ended up spending a good bit more money than she had intended because  _ no _ , she hadn’t factored in that the everyday school robes were worn over white button downs and little cross ties that turned into one’s house colors upon sorting. And so, between Madam Malkin and Lady Malfoy, each pressuring her to buy more of the frankly adorable clothes, mainly consisting of poofy shirts with dramatic collars and high-waisted dress pants, though there were a few everyday type outfits as well, old fashioned dresses and leather riding style pants with blouses and vests, she walked out of the door with her purse a good bit lighter than it had been when she walked in.

Most of the rest of the shops were quite boring, as the first years’ supply lists were quite uninteresting and long since memorized by the stores’ owners. Cauldrons and potion supplies came as a set, the telescope and scales came together, even quills and ink did, though, after seeing the sneers both Malfoys sent at the cheap packs, Lavinia opted to buy her writing materials separately, snatching a few pretty quills and extra colors of ink for fun, along with an inexpensive but pretty journal that she decided she would use to practice writing with a quill. Worst case, she’d just bring her fountain pens with her- those had to be pretentious looking enough to meet the magical world’s standards.

Though it hadn’t been on the list, Lady Malfoy insisted on taking them to buy trunks, as Heir Malfoy’s was supposedly too small for school, and apparently, Lavinia’s lack of a trunk was a dreadful tragedy, so, an hour later, all her supplies were stored in a gorgeous dark green leather trunk with her initials- LHE- in gold, that was honestly huge, the product of yet another expansion spell, she was sure, that was charmed to roll after her like a suitcase. 

Their last stop was Eeylops Owl Emporium, a small, rather dark shop near the end of the road, filled almost to the extent of Ollivanders’, except with owls instead of wands. Heir Malfoy had picked out a male snowy owl which the shopkeeper told him was already named Aster and would only respond to that, and he hadn’t stopped cooing at the little thing resting on his forearm since he had gotten it.

Lavinia, on the other hand, had immediately been attacked by a black eagle owl upon entering the store, and, against every other present persons’ better judgement, she bought it on the spot. She couldn’t help but love the feisty little animal, and once she saw its eyes, the same silvery shade that her own had lightened to as she got older, she couldn’t resist. The bird wouldn’t let anyone else near it or Lavinia until she assured it that they were safe- and, honestly, she would have sworn the bird understood English if she didn’t know better. It sat on her shoulder and pecked at her hairpins- it was adorable.

She named her Hera, vengeful and watchful. Protectress of any worthy woman.

Heir Malfoy was terrified of her.

When they left the owl shop, Lavinia realized rather belatedly that the sun was starting to set, casting long shadows in front of them as they walked back down the Alley to where Auntie was still waiting at the cafe, almost finished with her book, a half finished coffee forgotten beside her. Lavinia and the Malfoys got right up beside her and even then she didn’t notice their presence until Lavinia finally gave up and tapped her book with the hand that wasn’t holding onto her purse.

It was only years of practice getting lost in books that kept Petunia from dropping hers directly into her coffee.

“Lav,” she exclaimed, her face breaking into a smile. “Was the shopping successful, love? I’m assuming everything is in the trunk and-” She blinked. “Lavinia Hyadette Evans, is that an owl?”

Even Lady Malfoy was outwardly laughing at her downright bewilderment.

“Yes, Auntie,” Lavinia told her, keeping her expression the very picture of innocence. “This is Hera. Hera, this is Auntie. And yes to the other things as well. Shopping went lovely, and everything’s in the trunk.”

Her aunt just stared. “Okay….”

Lady Malfoy cut in, “It’s quite normal for witches and wizards to have owls, Petunia. Draco has one, too, and I have my own at home. It’s how we send letters, rather than postmen.”

“What’s a postman?” 

“Muggle mail deliverer, Draco.”

“Why do you know about muggle mail delivery?”

“Not now, Draco.”

He huffed, turning to Lavinia. “What’s a postman?”

She smirked. “Not now, Heir Malfoy.”

“I don’t want an owl making a mess of my house,” Auntie continued cautiously. “And I’m quite certain that  _ owls _ go against the home owner code for pets in my neighborhood.”

“If you would prefer, Heiress Potter’s owl is welcome to remain at our manor for the rest of the summer,” Lady Malfoy offered, Heir Malfoy grimacing behind his hand from beside her. “I suggest you bring her home with you tonight so she’ll know your location, but if you send her to Malfoy Manor, she can stay with our other owls until school starts up.”

Auntie smiled in relief. “That would be much appreciated, Narcissa. I suppose in time I’ll get used to it, but I doubt that’s anytime soon.”

“It’s no trouble at all, I assure you,” she replied, checking a small timepiece she wore around her neck. “Now, as it is getting to be about that time, are you two still free to join us for dinner?”

“Of course.”

“Lovely,” Lady Malfoy said, sounding quite pleased with herself. “It’s a lovely evening, and the walk isn’t far. If your tab is already picked up, we can get going.”

“Are we underdressed?” Auntie checked, and Lavinia shared her self-consciousness in their muggle attire. Neither of the women were underdressed by normal standards- Lavinia had paired a new sundress in baby pink with little red flowers and dark green leaves that hugged her figure and splayed into a full skirt with a white denim jacket and nude suede heels so low they were practically flats, and Auntie had kept on her work clothes, the stylish black suit and sky blue blouse she had worn when she ducked into the office early that morning, but they had no clue what counted as fancy in the magical world. For all they knew, the absence of robes already marked them as streetside bums.

Lady Malfoy simply smiled serenely and quirked a brow. “No one is underdressed when out with a Malfoy,” she said, with the air of entitled confidence that Lavinia doubted anyone else could pull off without seeming embarrassingly stuck up. “Walk with me; Draco knows the way as well- they aren’t going to get lost.”

The two women set off, their heads close in conversation, and a few moments later, Lavinia saw Lady Malfoy throw her head back in laughter. Lavinia and Heir Malfoy exchanged entirely befuddled glances before following after them, quickly at first so they could catch up.

“Not to rude,” Heir Malfoy began, “erm,  _ why _ exactly are they getting along at all?”

“I could ask you the same,” Lavinia confessed. “I didn’t know your family was so… accepting.”

Heir Malfoy just looked at her wide-eyed. “We’re  _ not _ .”

Lavinia blinked at his response. “Then I suppose this only shows that things are never set in stone, Heir Malfoy.”

“I find it more likely that Mother has unvoiced motivations,” he replied drily. “And please, just Draco. If even our guardians are set to be friends.”

“Lavinia, then,” she returned, pausing in her step to hold out a hand to shake, muggle style, if somewhat ironically. “I’m not too fond of my family name as it is.”

Draco nodded, but stared distastefully at her extended hand and shit-eating grin before shaking her hand, just once, and pulling away with a sneer.

Diagon Alley, Lavinia decided as they walked, was even prettier at night. That also probably had much to do with the fact that it was infinitely emptier than it had been all afternoon, but the stars peeking out around them as they faced the last rays of sunlight made the whole experience a million times more magical. It had cooled off a bit, though not uncomfortably so, as she did have a jacket with her, and the walk to the restaurant was perfectly pleasant, if quiet.

They hooked a sharp left down what Lavinia had assumed was nothing more than an alleyway, but at the end there was one building, an adorable old fashioned French style building with flowers in the front and a small sign hanging down with only one word: “ Adélaïde’s ”.

“This place is lovely,” she remarked, taking Draco’s arm as they walked up the short but rather narrow staircase.

“It really is,” he agreed. “Just wait ‘til you meet  Adélaïde .”

They were seated immediately upon arrival on the rooftop- another perk of the Malfoy name, it appeared. They were just browsing the menu when a woman came striding across the room directly towards them. “Narci!” the woman exclaimed, kissing her cheeks as she rose to greet her. 

“ Adélaïde’s the only one allowed to call her that,” Draco whispered. “Not even Father.”

“A pleasure as always,” the French woman continued. “And you’ve brought company! I recognize your son of course- wonderful to see you again, Draco- but come on, introduce the rest, love.”

“ Adélaïde, this is Heiress Lavinia of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and this is her guardian, Petunia Evans,” Lady Malfoy introduced. “Petunia, Heiress, this is Adélaïde herself.”

Lavinia and Auntie murmured their hellos politely, Lavinia somewhat intimidated by a woman who could call Lady Malfoy “Narci”.

“A pleasure,” Adélaïde replied, shooting them a smile, and Lavinia could tell that  _ something _ was off about the woman, she was a little too tall, her lips a little too red- magical women didn’t wear makeup as it was, her skin too pale or her red hair too shiny. Something was slightly menacing about the woman, even as she smiled and chatted with Lady Malfoy. 

It wasn’t until she had left and the door to the rooftop had closed that Lavinia turned to Draco. “What-”

“She’s a vampire,” he said simply, as though that were just an everyday thing to say, which, to him, she supposed it may very well have been.

“...Oh.”

“She’s wonderful, really,” he continued. “She’s been running this restaurant since 1784. She’s world famous- in the circles that can afford her, that is.”

“And who cares about the plebians anyway?” Lavinia deadpanned.

He nodded earnestly. “Exactly.”

“No, I was- nevermind,” she decided. How did one reply to such a thing anyway? “What here is good?”

“Everything,” he replied, browsing his menu without sparing her a glance, but she could see the smile he was trying to hide.

“Are there any specialties you recommend for me to order, Heir Malfoy?” she rephrased sweetly, forcing her already upper-class accent to match his posh one.

He finally turned his attention to her. “But of course, Heiress Potter,” he returned, matching her formality. “If you’ll give me just a moment, I’ll voice my commendation for you.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Auntie interrupted, her conversation with Lady Malfoy having come to an end. “Bickering like an old married couple, really.”

Draco turned quite red at that, lifting his menu to cover his blush rather than dignify her comment with a response.

“Why don’t we begin with the  talmouses?” Lady Malfoy suggested, smiling fondly at Draco’s antics.

“That sounds lovely,” Lavinia agreed, and Draco nodded beside her. 

Lady Malfoy tapped the corner of her menu with her wand, and the words shimmered slightly with magic. She then tapped the names of the items she wished to order- the talmouses and an order of escargot, and then the corner again.

“That’s how she’s ordering,” Draco clarified quietly. “Any high class restaurant will have it; it’s only places like cafes and pubs that actually come to your table to take your order.”

“Well, I have no clue what we’re about to eat,” Auntie admitted freely, “but I’ll trust your judgement.”

Lady Malfoy immediately began to explain, looking surprisingly delighted at someone with no knowledge of French, and she and Auntie pulled each other into a conversation about muggle and magical food. Lavinia chose to tune out most of it, but she distinctly remembered Lady Malfoy being absolutely shocked and somewhat concerned upon learning that Auntie or Lavinia did all of the cooking in their house, and Auntie having the same reaction upon learning that neither Lady Malfoy nor her husband had ever cooked a meal.

“Do you think she gets bored?” Lavinia had to ask. “ Adélaïde, that is. Doing the same thing for hundreds of years.”

“No clue,” was his response. “But she’s got to enjoy it if she still does it, and she’s completely smashing at it, so I choose not to question it.”

Smashing, Lavinia thought to herself in amusement. Lucy had once broken up with a boy because he said ‘smashing’ too much.

“Is it strange for you?” he asked next. “Adjusting, that is. You seem to know loads about our customs and history and everything, but you’re still stumped by the everyday goings-on. That’s got to be weird.”

“It really is,” she confessed. “I’ve been getting lessons for years, etiquette, politics, history, but that doesn’t mean I’m at all accustomed to just existing in a magical area.”

He wrinkled his nose. “That sounds miserable, living without magic.”

She would have shrugged if not for the fear of another one of Lady Malfoy’s reprimanding glares. “I suppose it would be for you. I grew up there, though. My life is there, my friends are there. It can’t be that awful with all of that.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Given the Malfoy’s reputation, she doubted he had ever thought of the muggle world in a positive light. “Well, not all your friends are there,” he said finally. “I’m here. And Hogwarts is here, so I suppose you’ll just have to settle for having two lives.”

“I suppose so,” she agreed, her attention drawn to the stars around them. She really should have guessed there was less light pollution in a place with no electricity, but it hadn’t really hit her until she saw it for herself. Even at night, the stars were bright enough to make out the town around them. And right over them, the first thing she and Draco saw as they sunk into a comfortable silence and leaned back to see the sky, was the North star, a star she had never been able to really see in muggle London, shining like a beacon, guiding them home. “I suppose so, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter!! and a long one this time!! I'm already working on the next one, but if this one got any longer... well, I can't have you guys getting things like expectations or anything. tell me what you thought and what you'd like to see- comments and kudos make me want to keep writing!
> 
> I'm crediting the sudden boost in hits to hitting 20k then 25k words (for those of us who filter by length) and quarantine (for those of us who have nothing better to do), but thank you all anyways!!!!
> 
> lastly, fun fact, this chapter is exactly 6666 words so that's cool in my opinion


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who asked for a family reunion? Definitely not Lavinia, but I did, and I'm the author, so I win.

The strangest part of summer was packing. 

It felt very fast, as she still had very little time between seeing her friends, keeping up her lessons, all the preparatory studies she was doing for Hogwarts, and everything else in life that always seemed to pile up.

Her actual school things were already in her trunk, so all she had to do was straighten it up and add the parchment, notebooks, and pens and highlighters and the like before she would have her supplies packed. But choosing which things to take with her and which to leave? Finding things she had forgotten she had ever owned and things she really didn’t need? Those kinds of things took time and planning, and a lot of tears on her part that she didn’t particularly want to admit to.

It helped somewhat that she had known for years that she would be off to Hogwarts, that so much of her life was just the preparation leading up to it, so hopefully it wouldn’t feel too much different as it was. But the idea that she would really be moving out, at least for the majority of the year, was only just then starting to hit her.

As sweet as her friends were, they weren’t helping by constantly reminding her. They were all making sure to spend as much time with her as possible, which honestly wasn’t all that different than before, as they were already all joined at the hip. But everything was about trying to do everything they could before she left, and she couldn’t help but feel as though she was being sent to her death rather than boarding school.

But she knew, realistically, that it was just school-  _ magic school _ , but all the same- and school, at least, was something she was good at. So she spent her spare time pouring over her textbooks, quizzing herself on potions properties and transfiguration theory, practicing spell pronunciation over and over- and good God was it strange, like the most butchered Latin she couldn’t have even come up with in her nightmares-, and wand motions with a pen clutched between her fingers. She memorized the spells in her books and what they did and how they worked and  _ why _ , and she could only pray it would be enough.

She had no clue, really, how much her classmates would know. She had written back and forth with Draco for the weeks since they had met, and he had said that ‘anyone of any meaningful stature would read through their schoolbooks before being taught’ and that he was not the exception. That was somewhat reassuring, both that she was doing what the rest of her peers were doing, and that her peers were not already advanced enough for reading through their books to be unnecessary. The only issue, and a rather glaring one at that, was that her goal was not to match her peers. It was to surpass them.

So she spoke to Astok and threw a rather sizable chunk of money at him, and he agreed to tutor her on Saturday afternoons and Thursday mornings as well as moving their lessons on Sunday to the mornings so that they could be longer while her friends had church, and lengthen their lessons on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. The extra time was spent practicing magic with her wand, as she couldn’t use her wand at home lest she set off “The Trace”, whatever that was.

Draco had tried his best to describe it, but it didn’t seem to make much sense. Though, that wasn’t much of a surprise given the magical world’s track record. The government could track the use of magic, or at least wand usage, and actually sorted out and kept the records for any magic cast by someone under the age of majority, but not particularly well. In a busy place, like Diagon Alley or Gringotts, they wouldn’t be able to tell who it was who cast the spell, and in a heavily warded place, like Malfoy Manor, they wouldn’t be able to sense it at all. It seemed stupid to her, but she supposed it was safer to cast magic around people who knew what they were doing and how to prevent any damage.

It was the end of July, a Sunday, as it was, and she had just gotten back from another magic lesson. She had been mainly on her own, as Astok had actual duties to attend to, and she had finally mastered the summoning charm, something she was quite proud of. It was a spell she would learn in fourth year, technically, but most of the spells in the first year textbooks didn’t seem particularly useful. It seemed more like a benchmark sort of thing than actual lessons- she would never need to turn a mouse into a pincushion, or a turtle into a teakettle, but they would teach the concepts and theories of transfiguration while testing everyone’s power levels. 

Nevertheless, they bored her, as much as magic ever could, and so she had moved onto useful things as soon as she had mastered them. Anyways, Astok’s face when she  _ Accio _ ’d him across the room really  _ had _ been amusing. 

She tucked her wand into the thigh holster she had bought earlier that day- being away from her wand tended to make her a bit stressed, and keeping it on her arm wasn’t much of a viable option in the muggle world unless she wished to wear jackets at all times, so the thigh holster let her keep her wand with her whenever she was in a dress or skirt. She had been drinking iced lemon drop tea that morning, but by now whatever was left was mainly just melted ice, and was barely even cold to the touch.

“Auntie,” she called, swinging around her doorframe and down the stairs. “I’m putting on the water, do you want-”

Her aunt was at the front door, facing down a woman who looked strangely similar to her, but with shiny red hair floating around her shoulders instead of Auntie’s loose blond curls. She was dressed normally, just a white t-shirt and jeans, but something seemed different about her, something  _ more _ seemed present.

“-tea,” she finished in a whisper, swallowing as she saw the woman’s focus shift to her and her lips curve into a smug smile. She fixed her dress, a pretty, white thing with a tight sweetheart bodice, poofy sleeves to her elbows, and full skirt that cut off an inch or so above her knee, and she held herself tall, adopting her heiress mask as Auntie liked to say. 

She shifted from running to gliding, almost floating down the stairs, her damp curls streaming behind her as she went to join Auntie at the door. She set her glass on the front table and plastered a smile on her face, the pleasant, yet bored and vaguely amused, expression that she had worked hard to pick up from Lady Miera and now Lady Malfoy. When she had gotten to the door and had a far better view of the front steps than she had from halfway up the stairs, she could see that beside the redheaded woman was a man who she could assume was her husband, as they each wore wedding rings and were very clearly unrelated.

He had her nose, she noticed. The woman had her lips.

They each watched her as she approached, staring more than was usually polite. Controlling her breathing to keep her heart from beating out of her chest, she placed a hand on Auntie’s arm and directed her focus to her. 

“Is everything alright, Auntie?” 

“Perfectly lovely,” her aunt told her, not ripping her eyes from the pair. “Lily, James, how would you like to join us for tea? I believe Lav was just about to put on the kettle.”

_ Oh. _ It was that time, wasn’t it.

Her heart was pounding hard enough that she could hear it, but Lavinia only shot another smile towards Auntie that didn’t quite reach her eyes and turned away from the door to set the water boiling on the stove. As soon as she rounded the corner, though, her breath came out in shaky puffs and she had to rest a hand against the wall to support her buckling knees.

She knew- she  _ knew _ \- she would be leaving soon. She knew they were coming, she knew they would…  _ want _ things, expect them even. She had considered herself prepared for this day, but oh how foolish she seemed in hindsight. How could one be prepared for such a thing?

Her eyes burned, but she refused to let a single tear escape. She flicked them away with her fingertips, wiped her nose with a tissue before it could drip, pinched the color out of her burning cheeks. She would make it through the meeting, she had to. 

If she couldn’t even handle this, how would she ever handle boarding school with Oliver?

The old kettle Auntie had, a gift from Yvonne ten years ago or so, was broken somehow, and it wouldn’t whistle, so Lavinia pulled the stuck cap out of it to see if the water was boiling. 

_ Burn them _ , her mind suggested. She rolled her eyes at her own dramatics.

The steam from the kettle, which clearly  _ was _ boiling, yes, was enough of an excuse for why her eyes were still a bit red when she finally returned to the living room with a teapot and four cups and saucers stacked on a serving tray. She held back on the exact motions she had learned for a proper magical tea, as she wasn’t sure when or if she wanted to reveal her training to the Potters, but she was no less proper as she went through the actions, something that clearly made the couple, the man especially, quite uncomfortable.

She and Auntie exchanged a look at his fidgeting and the woman’s suddenly tenser expression, and Lavinia knew immediately that they were agreeing to be as proper and polite as they could possibly manage.

“Ma’am, sir,” Lavinia addressed them from where she had taken a seat primly on the edge of the couch beside Auntie. “I’m afraid we haven’t met. I’m Lavinia, Lavinia Evans. It’s lovely to meet you both.”

“Uh, yea,” the man-James, she supposed she should start calling him, rather than just the man- replied awkwardly. “Well, I’m James, and that’s my wife, Lily. Potter. We’re your parents, kid.”

“I know,” Lavinia agreed, her expression unchanging, just a pleasant smile as she adjusted her skirts around her, making sure her wand stayed hidden.

The woman’s smile, if a bit tight, appeared genuine. “I’m so glad we can finally see you again, sweetheart,” she burst. “We’ve missed you so much, and we’re so glad to have you back with us- you don’t even know, sweet pea.”

Lavinia felt like flinching with each word out of the woman’s mouth. Sweetheart, sweet pea- the pet names sounded wrong from her mouth instead of Auntie’s.

“What brings you back?” she asked instead, trying to keep the conversation moving past their weak greetings.

Lily let out a little gasp and reached into her bag, grabbing a letter that looked just like the one Lavinia had gotten almost two months ago and practically pushing it on the girl. “We’ve brought your Hogwarts letter, darling. Read it, read it, you won’t be disappointed.”

Lily looked so hopeful, was the only thought in Lavinia’s mind as she broke the wax seal and pretended to read the familiar letter. If she hadn’t been, well,  _ her, _ Lavinia would have been touched by her earnesty. Probably.

But the woman in front of her was not her mother, just a stranger, if a nice one. 

“There doesn’t appear to be anything new in this one,” Lavinia said finally, faking confusion. 

“This one?” James spoke up.

“Yes, sir. I received my letter in early June. It should be just in the hall if you’d like me to get it.”

“Yea, please do that.” He was frowning now, as was Lily, and Lavinia hit herself internally. There was only so far to take a play like hers in their situation. But there wasn’t anywhere else to go with it now.

“Here,” she said when she returned, offering the letter to him, the envelope reading “Miss Evans” should he have cared to flip it over and check.

He inspected the letter rather thoroughly, reading through the whole thing start to finish before he handed it back, looking more awkward than he had at any point thus far. “I’m sure there was just a mistake with the filing or something. I’ll ask Minnie about it next time I’m up at the school. But, um, I guess you already know about magic and everything, so we don’t need to have that talk, but we- me and Lils and Ollie, that is, you’ll have to meet Ollie- can take you out shopping some time this week.”

“I’ve done my shopping,” Lavinia interrupted before his rambling went any longer. “I just finished packing before you arrived. Thank you for your offer.”

“Oh,” was all he could manage in response.

Luckily, or unluckily, she supposed, Lily was much better at speaking than her husband. “Even so,” she cut in, “we’d love to have you home as soon as possible. If you’re already done shopping and packing, then we could get going so you can see the house before it’s dark out.”

_ Right now? _ she wanted to screech, and to throw down her cup so it would shatter, or stand so sharply the couch would fly back against the wall. She could feel her magic building up in her veins, pulsing and pushing for her to let it go, and her wand was buzzing like a bee around her, itching to be taken out and used, not to cause chaos, as much as she may wish to, but to put things back in  _ order _ , back where they belonged. Not to move to the Potters’ house.

But she couldn’t do those things.

“I think that may be a bit sudden,” she denied, trying to keep her smile natural while she felt as frantic as she did.

Lily just frowned, and God, Lavinia really hated people looking at her with so much disappointment and disapproval. “It’s been years since we’ve even gotten to see you,” she said sharply. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask you to come home.”

“And I appreciate your kindness,” Lavinia shot back through gritted teeth, filling her mouth with ice to keep the fire out of her cheeks. “But given that I haven’t seen you in twelve years, I’m sure you understand why I find myself somewhat hesitant to leave my aunt’s home on such short notice.”

Something flashed in James’ eyes that she would have written off as frustration, but it just wasn’t. There was something more there, something deeper, and she was reminded all of a sudden that the man was a soldier before anything else.

“Look,” he said harshly. “We have all the time in the world for you to be a brat later, but we don’t exactly have all day. Ollie expects us back with you by dinner, and that wasn’t some sort of question. We’re your parents, and this has been the deal since day one. Go and get your bags.”

Auntie had clearly been trying to let them work through things themselves, and Lavinia could and did appreciate that, but she had clearly had enough. “Lav, darling, why don’t you take your tea up to your room for a bit, I know there was a bit of homework you wanted to finish up. Your mother and father and I need to have a bit of a talk.”

Lavinia nodded gratefully and kissed Auntie on the cheek before doing as she was told. She had no plans to remain in her room, however, not when there was an important conversation going on. 

Once she was certain she was out of eyesight, she dashed the rest of the way up the stairs and threw her last things in her trunk, lest Auntie not be able to work something out. She knew the woman would never stop fighting, but she also knew when it was wise to stop fighting and wait until the next battle. It wasn’t a particularly reassuring thought, however. 

She had no clue what the dorms would look like at Hogwarts, so she didn't bring too many of her things, mainly just her school supplies and uniforms, a few sets of nice Muggle clothes in case the opportunity arose, and some jewelry. She brought the jar from Colleen and Lucy that she had gotten early for her birthday that held a hundred folded bits of paper with inside jokes and compliments written on them and the little handheld mirror that Auntie had gotten her when they went to Lyon years ago. Past that, there was little she needed for school or any of the magical world. She liked collecting knickknacks, old keys, little jars, pretty rocks to put in said jars, but none of it held much sentimental value.

It only took a minute or so to get her trunk closed, and she traded her fur lined slippers for red, knee high Doc Martens, shoes that matched almost weirdly well with her lolita style dress. She looked like some kind of steampunk princess or something. Lucy would know. It was something cool though, she decided.

She poked her head back out of her room and, once she was certain she wouldn’t be seen or heard, continued out and down the stairs a bit so she could hear them all the way in the kitchen where Auntie decided they should talk. She wondered if Auntie had done so simply because she knew Lavinia would want to eavesdrop.

“-her mother!” she heard Lily hiss. “You’ve known for twelve years that this was temporary, Tuney. I don’t think now’s a good time to fight it.”

She had never heard anyone call her aunt ‘Tuney’.

“And where have you been while I raised her?” Auntie whisper-shouted in reply. “Clearly not out fighting for your lives on the front line. You’re the only thing keeping you from your daughter.”

“We’ve had Oliver to look after!”

“Well, maybe it should stay that way!”

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” James cut in, the same thick, harsh voice as before, which she never would have guessed could have come out of the man, but once she saw his eyes the first time, any other tone seemed unnatural. “She’s our daughter, under our custody, and unless you’d like to take this up with Albus-”

Lavinia could see him lean towards Auntie, just barely into her range of sight, and she pressed herself tight against the wall as he spoke too quietly for her to make out.

Who the hell was Albus, and why did he have that type of power? What kind of power did he mean in the first place? Could this Albus force her to leave her aunt? Force her to stay with the Potters? Would he hurt Auntie?

She heard James step back away from Auntie and she held her breath to hear his last line, quiet, so quiet, but not so quiet she couldn’t hear. 

“Be grateful you get to keep her memory, and move on with your life,” he spat, and she could hear the finality in his tone. Auntie was strong, but she had no power against an ex-army wizard.

_ Get to keep her memory?! _ her mind screamed. What on earth-

_ Slipping into the mind, reading the resonance, absorbing the memories… _

Could someone- was it possible- could memories be…  _ stolen _ ? She would have to study legilimency once she had the time. She wondered if the school library would have any books on it. 

“Lav,” Auntie called finally, not acknowledging her father’s words, her voice shaking slightly, and Lavinia could only hope it was from sadness rather than fear. “Come down, and bring your trunk.”

Lavinia choked on a sob, the strangling type of sob that catches in your throat and refuses to come out, not the satisfying type of crying where the tears fall until they’re all spend. Just the kind where she felt as though she was held together by a string, and everything around her had been turned into a knife. Would she still be leaving if she hadn't chosen to be so... _petty_ towards Lily and James? Was it her fault she had to leave now?

She took the deepest breaths she could, shaky ones, before answering, her voice light and even. “Coming, Auntie.”

She stared into the mirror propped against the wall, a full length one with a pretty gold frame, and wiped her tears slowly. 

“I am Lavinia Hyadette Evans,” she whispered to her reflection. “And I will not be lost.”

She could have smashed that mirror right then and there.

But she didn’t.

She pressed the small button on the side of her trunk that would make it follow behind her, and slowly, so slowly, walked down the stairs.

She was noticing everything around her then- each scratch in the wood on the railing, the stones surrounding the empty fireplace- had they always been so pretty?-, the paint on the ceiling that they had gotten redone last winter, the smell that always seemed present in the house, roses like her perfume and cleaning sprays, and lemon during the summer from Auntie’s. The house smelled like food a lot of the time as well, fresh baked bread as they liked to make, garlic and honey and spices that never quite went away. 

It didn’t matter how many times she told herself it wasn’t forever, it still felt like it. Every step she took was like another goodbye.

What if there were things she forgot? What if there were things she hadn’t appreciated enough while she had them? Did Auntie know that she loved every bit of their home, that every complaint she had ever made meant nothing now that she might have to leave? Did- 

Did Auntie know just how much Lavinia loved  _ her _ ?

“I am Lavinia Hyadette Evans,” she breathed again, clutching the pendant of her necklace between her fingers, a little compass with the face made of tiny gears in gold, a gift from her friends. It was a locket, though it was very, very, hard to tell, and inside was a picture of the five of them on one side and a picture of her and Auntie on the other. “And I will not be lost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! This chapter is pretty good sized, but nowhere near yesterday's, but that's because the scene with Oliver will be Long and Lavinia's thoughts will be Long, and this is the only good place to split the chapters. I thought it was some pretty passable angst though, so I hope you enjoyed, and please let me know what you thought!! Stay safe everyone and I'll see you either tomorrow or the next day!!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavinia would like to remind everyone that she did *not* ask for this. Time to meet Oliver!

Lavinia wouldn’t have wished her trip with the Potters on anyone, she decided. Not even Kasey Middleton, who had been awful to her and Colleen for years, or Scott Branston, the boy Lucy had broken up with back in June. No one deserved such a trip, and, if she were to really consider it, no one was better equipped to deal with it than her.

The Potters weren’t being awful anymore, no, that wasn’t the problem at all. They didn’t even know she had heard their conversation with Auntie, so they didn’t seem to consider that she may have still felt uncomfortable.

No, they were being… nice.

It was weird.

Lily had apologized for how she and James had “scolded her”, which was not how Lavinia would have described that interaction, but the sentiment was appreciated all the same. She had fussed over her hair and her clothes for a minute, talking about how she had grown up so pretty and oh, James, her eyes are different than they were before, and oh how sweet she looked in that dress but she really didn’t need to dress up for them, and while she was sure this was just the woman’s idea of compensating for her lack of a mother all those years, Lavinia couldn’t help but feel like a show pony or even a doll under the her gaze.

Lily, she learned, was one of those people who liked to ask a lot of questions, but didn’t particularly care about your answer. She asked about school and her friends and everything else a normal person would, but barely gave Lavinia time to answer. She seemed far more interested in telling Lavinia about their life and what Oliver was up to.

Lavinia was careful to pay attention to what she said, as any hint into the lives of the Potters could be helpful. Lady Miera’s warning came back to her: no information is useless. Ever. The first mistake anyone makes is thinking it is.

James, though. James made her want to through Lady Miera’s advice to the wind.

“And quidditch!” he was saying when she finally zoned back in. “It’s so weird to think that you grew up without quidditch. We’ll have to teach you- you can use Ollie’s old broom if you want. It’s a Cleansweep, which obviously can’t beat the Nimbus, but most people like having an excuse to lose against Ollie anyway. He’s a natural, that kid, I swear. You’ll just have to see it. Merlin, you don’t even know about flying, do you?”

She did, of course. It was one of the first things Draco told her about when they began exchanging letters. But he probably wouldn’t like that, so she kept her mouth shut.

“Wizards can ride brooms,” he explained. “They fly, and quidditch is a sport that Lils says is similar to muggle feetball.”

“Football, darling, not feet,” Lily corrected, shooting a knowing glance towards Lavinia that either meant “men” or “wizards”. Probably just the first.

They had apparated to the edge of the Potter estate, but they couldn’t get any closer. 

“You’re not keyed into the wards,” James had explained. “It’s warded against anyone apparating directly to the house- just in case, obviously. It’s been years since anyone dangerous has tried to get in. Just reporters, really. We’ll key you in as soon as we get to the house.”

From there, they had taken a carriage, a self-driving horse carriage of all things, up a long dirt road, and even though they had been riding for a few minutes already, Lavinia still couldn’t see the house.

“The estate is quite sizable,” Lily had told her as she craned her head out the window, sounding far too smug.

The air even  _ smelled _ rich.

“Over there is our quidditch pitch,” James was saying now. “We had one put in a few years ago for Ollie’s birthday, his seventh, I think.”

Lavinia blinked. The kid got an entire football field for his seventh birthday? What kind of life were these people living? Auntie had mentioned that her father was loaded, and she knew, logically that is, that they were nobility, but it hadn’t occurred to her that they would actually live like that. Her tutors had all described Rank as being a set of privileges and responsibilities, not the ability to give your seven year old a football field.

“It’s gonna be great getting to show you all this stuff,” he told her. “We’re really gonna have to start at the beginning, won’t we, I mean stuff that Ollie would have known as a little kid and all that. It’ll be fun tho, whaddya say?

She mumbled something non-committal and tried to keep her focus out the open window. They weren’t  _ unpleasant _ , was the problem. There was nothing she could point to that would show them to be awful people or anything. They were asking the right questions and keeping the silence at bay, and those were  _ good _ things, they were, but it all felt wrong.

“Are those stables?” she asked suddenly, catching sight of a small building to their right.

“Yea,” he confirmed, and she almost sighed in relief. That, at least, was something she knew how to do. “We have a few horses in there, though we don’t really ride them much. I think we all prefer brooms around here. Why, do you ride?”

She nodded. “It’s been a little while since I’ve gotten the chance,” she admitted. “There’s not exactly much space in London, but I have a friend whose grandparents have horses, and we’re usually out there a few times a year.”

Colleen’s grandparents really were wonderful. They lived in practically the middle of nowhere, some little village in Ireland with only a handful of neighbors, and they loved having the girls come to stay, so they spent a bit of Christmas and every spring break there. Colleen and Lucy would be going to visit in just a few weeks, in all likelihood. 

Riding was fun, though riding with her friends was what made the experience particularly enjoyable. But something about riding made her feel so much closer to the world, because it was, in a way, an out of body sort of experience. She wasn’t running, barely directing the horse past a few directions. Nature was simply running its course, and she was along for the ride. 

“That’s cool. Maybe you could teach Ollie to ride or something, get some sibling bonding in and all that,” he suggested. 

A smile tugged at her lips, a real one this time. “That does sound fun,” she agreed. “I’m not sure if I’m good enough to teach anyone, but I can certainly try.”

“Good, good.”

“He’s excited to meet you, you know,” Lily cut in, her smile so wide that Lavinia was almost concerned. “We’ve always been very open with him- we always try to be- about you, and what happened, and when you would come back to us. Tuney did tell you about all that, right?”

“Oliver was in danger after the Dar- the terrorist’s downfall, and it was safer for me to be out of the crossfire,” Lavinia recited, trying to keep her tone from going dull. “He needed protection, and you preferred to keep me out of the press.”

How did Lily’s smile even get that wide? Her teeth were perfect, Lavinia couldn’t help but notice, and she had to wonder what kind of magic one used on teeth. Auntie always said that good teeth were an Evans blessing, and she believed her. She had worn retainers for about a year, and still owned one she could wear at night if she wished to, but her teeth had always been fine, and she was grateful for it once she saw all her friends in braces, but Lily’s smile was so… bright. Had to be some sort of spell, she swore, and she swore to learn it as well.

“Just right,” Lily agreed. “I’m glad you understand, darling. What was I saying?”

“How excited Oliver is,” James supplied.

“Right, of course. So excited,” she repeated. “We thought it would be the perfect birthday present.”

Lavinia frowned. “Birthday present? For-?”

“For Oliver,” Lily filled in, frowning slightly in apparent confusion, even while she smiled. “It’s his birthday today. And yours, of course- you are twins. Happy birthday, by the way, dear.”

“Yea, happy birthday, sweetheart,” James added belatedly at Lily’s glare.

“Thank you,” Lavinia made sure to respond, her mind racing at the new information. “I hadn’t, erm, been aware of my exact birthdate until now. Auntie was never told.”

Lily had the nerve to look quite surprised. “When did you celebrate?”

“October thirty-first. The day I was left with Auntie,” she replied tightly. 

“That’s- well, that’s nice, I guess,” she said, stumbling over the words as the carriage shook from running over a rock left in the path. “But now you know, of course, so you’ll be able to celebrate properly.”

Lavinia just hummed, not ready to dignify her suggestion with a reply. She had no issue with her birthday being in October- it was her legal birthday anyway.

“You can see the house from here,” James remarked, and Lavinia immediately turned to the window, trying not to look completely ridiculous as she leaned out of it.

He was right- the house, if it could even be called a house, was finally peeking out from the hills. It seemed more like a mansion than a house, and she was reminded of how Draco’s “house” was considered a manor. 

“It’s lovely,” she said honestly. It was stone, she was pretty certain, and quite beautiful. The windows covered the majority of the side of the house she faced, and stone columns surrounded the door. It was an old-fashioned thing, probably quite old in reality, she assumed. Small balconies came off of every window, and there was a full second floor open patio over what she figured was a more recent addition, given the newer look of the stone.

She sighed. Their master suite was probably larger than she and Auntie’s townhouse.

“Yea,” James agreed, and she had to wonder if that was the most commonly used word in his vocabulary. “We had a little place in Godric’s Hollow when you were a baby, but after the attack and all… well, we wanted a new place, and needed one with better wards. This is the Potter family estate, where I grew up and everything. It’s great, you’ll love it.”

Well, she could try.

She wanted so desperately to love it, to realize that  _ this _ was the home she was meant for, that the muggle world could never stack up to magic and her birth family. It would be the perfect fairytale ending, right? She would have  _ magic _ , and shouldn’t that be worth everything? She would live in her family’s castle, and go to magic school, and do magic things. It would be so  _ easy _ .

The carriage finally stopped near the door, and she followed Lily and James out. She paused to wait for him to offer his arm, but it only took a moment to realize that the Potters did not practice proper magical etiquette at home. She wondered whether she should mimic them or continue as she had learned. For now, at least, a mix of the two would suffice; they could just think she was unusually polite rather than recognizing her training. It seemed like perhaps she shouldn’t tell them about her training, not any of it at all. Every time they had seemed even vaguely honest in their excitement was when they spoke of introducing her to the magical world. Would they be at all excited if they knew she was already practiced in their ways?

James paused, his hand on the door handle.

“I understand that moving is stressful,” he said after a moment, a soft smile on his lips but his eyes hard. “And I understand that you may want to act out like you did before. But that will not be tolerated in this house, understand? We have enough on our plate without a rebellious teenager in the mix.”

“Of course, sir,” she assured him, bowing her head slightly, her fingers playing with the handle of her wand through her skirts. She could feel the buzzing anticipation from the wood, and took all of her concentration to not pull it out for protection. “I wouldn’t wish to disrespect your hospitality.”

He frowned. “It’s not hospitality, sweetheart, this is your home. Always has been. It was your stay at Tuney’s that was temporary, don’t you worry about that.”

Did he know that every reassurance out of his mouth sounded like a threat?

Finally, he opened the door, revealing the most elaborate foyer she had ever seen, with a bigger chandelier than she had realized even existed. She had discreetly summoned her trunk already, as she couldn’t reach the button from where she stood, and where it had looked out of place at Auntie’s for being to fancy, it looked out of place there for being too plain. Lady Malfoy had tried to convince her to buy the more expensive one, even offering to cover the rest of the cost herself, but Lavinia had opted against owing the woman any more than she already did.

The layout reminded her a bit of the house from  _ The Sound Of Music _ , with the foyer being open three or four stories, she couldn’t tell, and rounded balconies visible above them with doors all around. Much larger, though. She itched to take a picture to send to her friends, Thomas especially, what with his recent obsession with architecture..

“Oliver!” Lily shouted, dropping her hat on the railing of the open staircase. “Lavinia’s here!”

One of the doors on the third floor opened slowly, and a boy slipped out, breaking into a run when he saw the party in the foyer. 

“Oliver,” Lily scolded when he reached them, grabbing her hat from the floor where he had knocked it. “What did I say about sliding down the railings?”

He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Not to do it.”

“Exactly. So quit it.”

“It’s fun. This is her?”

Lavinia wanted to sneer, but opted instead for a friendly smile and offered her hand. Not really worth getting off on a worse foot than she already was. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lavinia.”

“I know.”

She blinked, pulling her hand back. “I should hope so,” she replied, keeping her tone light. “Doesn’t mean it’s not polite to introduce myself.”

He watched her for another moment before turning to James. “Dad, you’ve brought us a ponce,” he deadpanned.

She could see Lily biting her lips and her eyes crinkling, and James just outright laughed. How polite.

“No need to be like that,” James teased him, reaching over to ruffle his hair- red like his mother and messy like his father- and he immediately reached to fix it, batting his father’s hand away. “I’m sure you guys are gonna get along great. You need a friend here anyway, Ollie. Yours are always too busy to come over much.”

“Yea, I guess,” he agreed absently, staring at his shoes. He was a good bit taller than her, she noticed, even with his truly awful posture. She wondered briefly where he had gotten those genes, as neither of his parents were particularly tall. Auntie was tall though, 176 centimeters if she remembered right, so she dismissed the curiosity.

“Come-on, it’s dinner time,” Lily said after a few moments of silence. “Trixy? Come bring Lavinia’s trunk to her room and send for dinner.”

A house elf- and God- er, Merlin- no that sounded strange even to her- anyways. A house elf popped into the room, and Lavinia doubted she would ever get used to the little things, even if she saw them quite frequently in Gringotts.

“That’s Trixy,” Lily said belatedly, as the little elf had already popped away with her trunk. “She’ll be your elf, you can call her whenever you need something.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

Lily shot her another motherly sort of smile, and Lavinia followed the family down a rather confusing set of hallways just to get to the dining room, which was really more of a dining hall than an actual room, as the table would probably seat twenty without any trouble.

“So you’re going to be at Hogwarts, too?” Oliver asked awkwardly, slowly down so they could walk side by side. 

“Yea, I’m pretty excited,” Lavinia told him, wincing on the inside at the unfamiliar speech pattern. “I mean, finding out about magic and all, it’s been really great.”

“Well, yea,” he scoffed. “It’s magic. I couldn’t imagine growing up without it. And without even  _ quidditch _ …” He shook his head. “Sounds miserable. And it sucks that you won’t be any good- I could really use someone to play against. I’ll need the practice before tryouts.”

All men knew how to talk about were their stupid sports, Lavinia wanted to whine. Two seconds into the conversation and it was futbol, quidditch, volleyball, quidditch, basketball,  _ quidditch _ . By Circe, it was annoying.

That one didn’t feel so strange, she decided, for a magick-ism. Maybe it could stick.

“Tryouts?” she asked, humoring him, as she had nothing better she wanted to talk about.

“Quidditch tryouts?” He looked so bewildered that it was almost funny.

“I didn’t grow up here,” she reminded him, speaking slowly as if to a child.

“Right. Merlin, you’re gonna be behind. Like a little kid or something,” he laughed. “Hogwarts is divided into houses, you know that at least, right?”

“Yes, I know about the houses.”

“Well, each house has a quidditch team, and the teams compete for the quidditch cup,” he explained. “First years aren’t supposed to be on the team, technically, but I figure I can get on anyway. I’ll have Dad talk to Minnie if I need to. But I haven’t played against anybody good in forever.”

“I’m sorry,” she tried, unsure of what to say. The only response that really came to mind was that if he couldn’t get in on talent alone then maybe he didn’t deserve it, but that seemed like an unnecessary fight. Devonte would say it, or at least Lucy would say it for him, she knew that much. He had friends on his teams who had only barely gotten in just because some rich kid who wasn’t nearly as skilled as them had gotten their daddy to call in and complain or donate money to the team.

“It’s whatever,” he dismissed. “I’ll be on the team regardless, and that should be some competition at least. I had the seeker from the Bats coaching me before, but apparently their season training started up early or something stupid like that.”

“Wow.” She knew all her replies were a bit bland, but, Circe, what was there to say? He seemed to just like talking  _ at _ her, just presenting something to an audience rather than having a real conversation.

She waited for the rest of them to sit before she followed their example, erring on the safe side in case they actually wanted to follow propriety and seat the ladies first. James should have seated Lily, then sat himself, so that Oliver could seat her and then himself. But instead, Oliver just dropped into the chair to the right of the head of the table, and Lily on the left side, James sitting at the head and finally Lavinia taking her seat beside Oliver.

Lily tapped the side of her plate and courses began appearing at her place, popping into existence in a way suspiciously similar to how house elves travelled. They must have been sending food up from the kitchens, she decided. James and Oliver tapped their plates as well, and Lavinia hurried to do the same.

“It all looks lovely,” she said hesitantly. “Thank you very much.”

“Of course, of course,” James assured her, his mouth already full. 

She took the cue to begin, choosing not to forgo all decorum, even if the rest of them were. Oliver actually picked up the meat with his hands, biting into it like a sandwich and licking his fingers clean. She could hear him chewing, as he seemed unable to keep his mouth closed, and the sounds made her feel a bit sick.

“So, er, how’s your summer been?” James asked, breaking the silence.

“Quite nice actually,” she replied, setting down her silverware to give him her attention and taking a sip of her drink instead, which turned out not to be water and instead to be some sort of sparkling juice that was really quite delicious. “I’ve been busy, of course, what with lessons and all, but it’s been nice to have time to see my friends more. We were at my friend’s grandmother’s house- not the one with the horses, my other friend. Her grandparents have a house by the lake, and that was very relaxing.”

“That does sound fun,” Lily agreed. “We have a pond on the edge of the grounds; it’s not large enough to take a boat out or anything, but you could definitely swim if you wanted to.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you ma’am.” She seemed to be putting in an effort, Lily, that was. It had to mean something at least.

“You take lessons over the summer?” Oliver asked, sounding properly incredulous.

Lavinia frowned. Didn’t he? What with all his hero training or whatever? “Yes. My extracurriculars don’t end with the school calendar.”

“What classes do they even offer over summer?” James asked in the same tone as his son.

She breathed a sigh of relief. This was something she knew how to talk about, and adults usually had a positive reaction to learning about her lessons. Sports had her far out of her depth. “Latin, French, ballroom dance, cotillion, political philosophy, vocal coaching, ballet- ballet is five or six days a week now that I’m advanced-, erm, what else. Piano.”

James and Oliver were staring at her in horror, and Oliver’s mouth had dropped open to reveal an entire mouthful of food.

“You take political philosophy at age thirteen?” That came from James.

“You have classes six day a week?” That was from Oliver.

“I have classes seven days a week,” she corrected, squirming slightly under their stares. “I don’t have ballet on Wednesdays, and I’ve taken to skipping it on Sundays, and Wednesday’s the day I have Latin and Cotillion. And French. And self defense training. Defense is essentially just working out though, so it’s really quite nice to have that scheduled in five sessions a week.”

The Potters just gaped, something that made her extremely uncomfortable. Lots of people were shocked at her workload- hell, even her friends liked to make fun of her for it- but no one had ever openly shown such a negative response. She swallowed thickly.

“Do you have a piano here?” Lavinia asked instead. “I would hate to fall out of practice, and I could play for you, if you wanted, that is.”

“There’s one in the West Wing, I believe,” Lily answered after a moment, glancing over to check with James, who nodded. “We’ll have it brought to your suite, or you can ask Trixy to do it whenever you’d like. And we’d love to hear you play for us.”

Oliver muttered something under his breath. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” Lily asked. “Speak up.”

“I said ‘maybe _you_ would’,” he repeated loudly, folding his arms low on his chest. “I don’t care about her stupid piano.”

“That seems a little extreme, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

“She wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Oliver ranted to his parents, gesturing rudely in Lavinia’s direction. “She was supposed to be nice, or fun, not some annoying ponce who the most interesting thing about her is summer school.”

Lavinia clenched her teeth, unsure if the burning sensation was from anger or embarrassment or tears, but not prepared to find out either way. “I wasn’t going to trap you in a room and play piano until you die of agony,  _ brother _ ,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I was trying to be polite and spend time with you and your family, since you’re all kind enough to let me stay here  _ and _ take your piano. You have my deepest apologies if your minuscule brain can’t handle the concept of propriety.”

Well, she knew where Oliver had learned his outraged expression from. “You’re not really going to let her speak to me like this, are you?” he asked of Lily and James.

Lily’s eyes were wide with that sort of detached hysteria one has when watching someone do something really stupid in a horror movie- that desire to look away but be unable to tear your eyes from the view, incapable of doing anything to stop the fire from spreading. “Of course not, sweetie,” she rushed to assure Oliver.

James was speaking over her, his face a mix of her worry and Olivers offense. “I’m sure Lavinia is just tired from the trip, Ollie. I doubt she really means-”

“I’m the reason you’re here,  _ sister, _ ” he spat back. “I’m the reason you survived that night, the reason  _ any _ of us survived the war. And you would do well to remember that.”

The burning was definitely tears. Indignant ones, though, not sad ones. She controlled her short breaths to something sustainable and blinked the tears from her eyes, saying nothing in response, just holding his angered gaze with her own.

“Why don’t we head down to the kitchen for cake?” Lily suggested, ever the nervous peacemaker. “Celebrate your birthdays.”

“I don’t think-”

“I don’t want-”

“Thank you ma’am,” Lavinia spoke over them. “But I think I’ll just retire to my room. I’m quite tired after today’s excitement. I’ll have an elf show me the way.”

She rose at that, pushing back her chair and holding her head high as she walked from the dining room, the heavy soles of her boots sending echoes through the silent chamber. She called for Trixy once she was far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to hear the crack in her voice as she spoke, and she followed the elf to her suite before practically collapsing on the bed, not even taking her shoes off or taking down the little braids in her hair.

All she wanted was to text Lucy and Colleen about it, video call them until they were all just laughing their asses off and doing impressions and everything would feel okay again. Why couldn’t anything in her life just go  _ right _ ?

Was it embarrassing to cry herself to sleep on the very first night? It didn’t matter. Not if she put up a silencing charm first, at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna clear a few things up just in case they weren't easy to notice, since the canon deviations were pretty easy to miss looking back, especially if you're already expecting a few things. There's no new info here though, so it's fine to scroll right past this.
> 
> 1\. Snape is not a teacher! This was mentioned in chapter 10, but once again, tiny detail. In canon, Snape turns to Dumbledore after Lily's death, but Lily didn't die. Lily's fine, Snape never switched sides, he's not a spy or a teacher, and he's unlikely to have any large part in this story. 
> 
> 2\. Hogwarts starts at 13. A few people have still been confused about the ages, but Lavinia is being picked up at 13 because Hogwarts starts at 13. She and Oliver will both be starting first year about a month after this chapter takes place.
> 
> 3\. Less of a canon deviance and more just a clarification for this story- the Potters are not evil, Oliver is not stupid. They're human. They're not good parents (esp with Lav) and their actions aren't excused, but the goal is not to bash them to an almost comical extent. They're misguided, but not ill-intentioned (yet 👀). Oliver has been trained and he's not incompetent, he's just not the hero of this story.
> 
> I believe that wraps up the confusion, so thank you for reading and I hope you liked it!! To everyone who's mentioned that this story and the frequent updates are making quarantine/social distancing a little easier or more enjoyable, I'm so glad I can help during such a tough time, and thank you for telling me! It means more than you realize, I'm sure. Please let me know what you thought or want to see next- next chapter should bring some Hogwarts action!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Hogwarts. May the fun begin.

Lavinia only had one strategy for surviving her time with the Potters: avoidance.

And, in her entirely humble opinion, it was a very effective one at that. She made sure to be busy every minute of the day, even during mealtimes, so she could often go days on end without seeing a single Potter.

She felt somewhat guilty for the elves, she supposed, as she was imposing upon them in the kitchens twice a day for meals, but the adorable little creatures always seemed so happy to see her, sending her off with a picnic basket every time she went out riding, or making her smoothies when she came down for a snack in the wee hours of the morning. She learned that they were very defensive when it came to receiving anything in return, so she settled for being very kind to them and baking with them when she could, which she realized was ridiculously fun.

She also felt guilty because it was left up to them to explain her absence each night, whether she was out riding, or painting out on the grounds, or swimming in the pond, or what have you. From all accounts, this made the Potters, hold Oliver, rather angry the first few times, but by the time weeks had passed, they stopped caring, or even asking at all. Lily had taken to shooting her looks of disappointment whenever they were forced to interact, and James would give her similar looks of frustration, Oliver of disgust. The elves’ smiles had become much of a welcome sight. She felt like she could go insane from the lack of positive human contact.

She spent as much time outside as possible, once she had learned the charm for sun protection. She was faster than ever on horseback, and Nightingale, a black and white spotted mare, had taken to her immediately, and she could spend hours just running with her, melting into the wind and the motion and forgetting everything else. 

When she was outside, she could pretend that she wasn’t with the Potters, that she was somewhere, anywhere, else than there. 

Everything in their house was beautiful, and the piano she had taken was far nicer than any she had ever played on before, but something about it had lost its magic when she knew that the Potters could hear her playing, and she knew it was their piano, at their house. Not that that would stop her. She made it a point to practice for an hour or so everyday, usually as soon as she woke up at the crack of dawn. If she was certain that the Potters weren’t up, a little of the magic remained, the first weak light peeking through her windows as she let the world melt away a bit as she played through the familiar songs, singing as loud as she wanted, confident it wouldn’t bother the sleeping family from all the way across their mansion. 

The elves, Trixy and Dotty especially, loved listening to her play, and would find excuses to join her when she played by bringing her tea and fresh biscuits and new types of bread and all sorts of other things until she finally figured out what was going on and just told them they could join her in the mornings. She really did love those little creatures.

What annoyed her, more than it likely would have in any normal situation, but the Potters had put her in an almost non-stop sour mood, was that there was absolutely nowhere for her to practice duelling like she did with Astok. She could exercise wherever she wanted, and she would tend to go running before lunch, then swimming or riding after it, and she had found what she assumed was an old ballroom that she could practice ballet in- another thing the elves liked to watch her do-, as every wall was covered in mirrors and the floor was made for dancing, but there was nowhere to duel. In Gringotts, she used one of the Goblins’ designated duelling chambers, which had spell-proof walls, a wall of mirrors, and a row of dummies to practice against. 

But everything in the Potters’ house was so… untouchable, was the only way to describe it. It went deeper than feeling like a guest, she felt, more that she was in a whole world she didn’t belong in when she was in their home. Everything in their house seemed valuable, and not in the way that Draco described Malfoy Manor, where everything was expensive just because they could afford it. The way he described it made everything feel somewhat proportional, him breaking a thousand pound vase there was no different than her breaking a ten pound vase at home. The Potters on the other hand, everything in their house felt like a display object in a museum, richer than they needed, a complex performance, and Lavinia wasn’t sure she wanted confirmation on who it was for. She didn’t even want to know what their reactions would be if she broke something, not to mention if she did it with magic. She wondered how good Oliver was. She could probably beat him in a duel, she thought. She hoped.

That thought only made her more determined. She had to be better than him.

And that was what brought her to the pond at five in the morning on the first of September. Lily had cornered her the night before so that she would agree to eat breakfast with them that morning, and she figured there were better things to fight with the woman about than a meal the morning before she went to boarding school. 

She was holding her right leg back behind her head, her left arm extended outward as she balanced on one foot, forgetting the time she was counting as she watched a flock of small black birds swoop past the barely grey sky. It had been a long time since she had danced outside, as she generally hated dancing barefoot, but she had the time, and she had been curious if she could combine her dancing with some of the duelling techniques Astok had taught her.

There was less of a difference between fighting and dancing as she got more advanced in each one. The spin kick she used to knock a wand out of someone’s hand had her go through the same poses that she used in ballet, the ducks were the same as various moves, even the footing was often quite similar as they were all taught to optimize balance. It was all the same really, just one a bit more dangerous than the other. It wasn’t like she had ever  _ duelled _ until her feet bled.

She lowered her leg slowly and considered pulling out her wand to get a bit of practice in, but it was one thing too many, she decided, letting herself fall back onto the grass and rest.

Hogwarts, she decided, would be a welcome change. Having no responsibilities was nice in theory, but in the end, all it meant was that she had to force herself to do everything she normally had time allotted for, but without any schedule or teacher. She still practiced her Latin, her dance, her magic, recited the rules for etiquette, poured over the texts for politics. It felt like time had stopped in a lot of ways, but in reality it was all still going on. She was just struggling, just a little bit, to keep up without getting ahead.

It was likely to be boring, as well, in some ways at least. She had finished her schoolbooks two weeks after she bought them, and mastered everything she could practice at home in the by a week after that. Potions wasn’t one she could practice, which frustrated her greatly, and many of the transfigurations required things she had no access to, or didn’t want to find. She had no interest in torturing a poor little toad just to turn it into a hairpin, not when she could go and buy one herself, for Merlin’s sake. Who even invented sch a spell in the first place?

Someone who had a deep seated hatred for toads, she sighed, snapping her fingers for an elf. “Can you take me back to the Manor, Trixy?” she asked, once the elf had popped into the field. “It’s getting later than I realized, I think, and I’d prefer not to have to answer any questions pertaining to my whereabouts.”

“Of course, Missy Lavvie,” Trixy squeaked, grabbing her hand. The elves had all called her Miss Potter at first, a choice she did not particularly appreciate, but they refused to call her by her first name, so, after days at a stalemate, they finally compromised. “Can I bes bringing you anything else?”

She shook her head, pulling her hairbands out to let her bun down. “No, thank you, Trixy. I just need to finish getting packed.” 

The elf nodded and popped away, leaving Lavinia alone in her suite, which seemed even larger than before now that she was ready to leave it, hopefully forever. Her bedroom alone was probably the size of the bottom floor of Auntie’s house, and her closet was the size of her bedroom at home. It was empty, though, of anything that would make it hers, much different than her real bedroom, which was filled with mismatched furniture from antique sales and little collections of things and her posters on the wall and her books on the shelves. It was better that way, she supposed- that room feeling like home would have only been painful- but that didn’t keep it from being a very lonely feeling.

Something about school being about to start up made her suddenly very tired, as though all the exhaustion she had stored up and ignored over the past month had all come crashing down on her all at once.

Taking a deep, if shaky, breath, Lavinia crossed to her mirror, sectioning out her hair into the familiar pieces for her braids, trying to avoid focusing on anything else. It all fell in her face otherwise, and, as she refused to cut it, even once it had reached her back and passed it, she had learned a million or two hairstyles for it, each taking longer than the next.

She wrapped two dutch braids around the top of her head like a crown, weaving smaller braids and twists into it until it looked really quite elaborate, far more so than it really was, and all the hair around her face was up. Tucking a few pearl hairpins into the braids and adding a ew small white flowers that she had picked that morning, she shook out her arms, as they had gotten quite sore, and sighed. By that time tomorrow, she would be waking up at Hogwarts. And wasn’t that a strange thought.

She slipped out of the athletic shorts she had brought to work out in, and pulled on a pair of high waisted, sailor front, grey slacks and a white, short sleeved blouse with droopy collar and little pearl buttons down the front, pairing it all with black heeled oxford shoes she had gotten for a piano recital forever ago, hoping whatever color her robes turned during the sorting would match well enough if her outfit was aggressively neutral. She left the robes and tie on top of her trunk and her earrings on the vanity; they had agreed that breakfast would be at eight, and the train didn’t leave until ten, so she didn’t need to be ready to go the moment she got up. 

Once she finished packing, she thought about having Trixy pop her down to the kitchens, but in the end decided to try and figure it out herself. It was only quarter til eight, so even if she did get lost, she figured she would be fine. 

The portraits on the walls by the staircase stared at her as she walked, and even her own reflection in the mirrors seemed to follow her every movement. She shivered, despite the warmth, but simply squared her shoulders, tossing her hair and letting her heels click against the marble stairs. 

Luckily, the route to the kitchens was one she actually remembered surprisingly well, and she arrived right as Lily and James were sitting down, a few minutes before eight, Lily in a gorgeous red suit and a full face of makeup- which was strange to Lavinia, as, from all accounts, makeup wasn’t at all a thing in the magical world, hold cosmetics that reminded her more of face paint that both sexes would be expected to wear at formal events- and James in jeans and a Gryffindor t-shirt. 

“Good morning,” she greeted, crossing her fingers that they would be in better moods without Oliver present.

“Mornin’,” James replied, his voice still rough.

Lily smiled, the plastic, but not unkind, look that Lavinia had learned to associate with her. “Good morning, sweetheart. There’s tea in the pot if you’d like some.”

Lavinia nodded, shooting her a smile and accepting a teacup from an already waiting elf. The tea smelled like cinnamon and spices, some she knew and some she didn’t, and she just breathed in the scent for a moment before taking a seat beside Lily. Her fingers itched for her phone as she watched Lily lean over to look at something in the newspaper that James held over his face, but she knew such a thought was hopeless. She had checked a million times to see if there was a single spot in the manor or on the grounds from which she could finally check back in with her friends.

It was half an hour of staring into her tea and reading the back of the newspaper before Oliver ran in, still in his red and gold pajamas, hair mussed from sleeping and nothing on his feet but socks.

“I’m here,” he announced, taking a hot cup of tea from an elf and a biscuit from the jar before dropping into the empty chair with his limbs all sprawled around him. “Morning, Mum, Da.”

“Good morning, darling, how’d you sleep?” Lily’s smile had melted into something real, and Lavinia had to look away before she frowned. 

“Fine,” he mumbled through a mouth full of crumbs. “Train should leave later, really. You should really talk to the headmaster, Da- this is ridiculous,” he added sarcastically.

“I’ll get right on that,” James replied, faux serious. “Should I make sure you get your own personal compartment on the train, too?”

“Obviously,” Oliver drawled, before his straight face slipped and he let out a short laugh.

He had a nice laugh, Lavinia thought, at least. He’d really be quite likeable if he wasn’t so… well, unlikeable. 

That didn’t even make sense to her. She gave up.

“Excited for Gryffindor?” James asked him, tugging on the neck of Oliver’s shirt with a laugh. 

“Definitely.”

“You were a Gryffindor as well, I presume, sir?” Lavinia spoke up. 

“Yep,” he replied proudly. “Me and your mother both. All Potters are Gryffindors, really, have been for generations.” He looked over at Lily, and Lavinia recognized the look of a man who was about to say something silly to get a girl’s attention. “We tend to go for Ravenclaws, though, or the ones who should have been there, really,” he added, leaning in to try and kiss his wife on the cheek, which only got his face pushed away. “Gryffindor’s the best house by far, though, and we Potters have got to keep our red and gold streak. You two aren’t gonna break that, are you?” he checked with a laugh, mussing Oliver’s already messy hair. He grew a little more serious, but his playful smile didn’t leave. “You’re gonna love it, kid, don’t worry about it. Ollie can help you out anyway.”

“We need to make sure to be in the floo by nine o’clock,” Lily cut in, checking her watch. We already know we’ll be held up at the station by reporters and everything, so it’ll be best to be a little early. And, that way, you two can get a good seat on the train before it’s all full. Are you two going to be ready by then?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lavinia agreed, nodding.

Oliver looked a bit sheepish. “I, er, haven’t packed yet. I should probably, uh-”

Lily rolled her eyes fondly. “Minky?” The elf popped in. “Go pack for Ollie, please, and leave a sweater and jeans on the bed.”

“Yes, Misses Lily,” the elf exclaimed, popping away immediately. 

“Why don’t you have another biscuit and go shower, sweetheart. You’re on camera, remember!”

“I know, Mum,” he told her, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fine- all the reporters love me anyway. I’ll be down at nine.” With that, he grabbed a biscuit from the jar and a plate with a hot pastry from an elf, and left again, leaving Lavinia alone with the Potters.

“Erm, Veery?” Lavinia asked a nearby elf quietly. “Could I have a smoothie please? Like the one I had yesterday.”

A smoothie was in her hand before she even finished saying please.

The following fifteen minutes or so that she made it before she excused herself to her rooms was even more awkward than it had been before Oliver had gotten up, but at least the Potters weren’t actually rude. Thank Circe for small mercies, she supposed.

It was a relief to say goodbye to the Potters’ house, though she would miss the elves. And the horses. She looked in the mirror one last time, adjusting her earrings, beautiful, if ironically gaudy, statement pieces of gold and rhinestones with little hanging cupids with bows and arrows, that Yvonne had given her at the end of the school year. This was it.

Flooing, she quickly learned, was not fun. At all. It was like being sucked in a million different directions and then spat out onto the floor somewhere else. It was only years of dance training that kept her from making an absolute fool of herself on the floor of the train station. She still fell, but at least she knew how to roll off of it with dignity.

Though she didn’t really appreciate Oliver’s teasing about it.

It was as if every event in her life was trying to one up the last one in how absolutely awful it was. As soon as Oliver stepped through, they were swarmed with reporters on every side, shoving parchment in their faces with extravagant quills copying down their every word for them. It would have made her claustrophobic if she wasn’t already.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco, smiling at her, seeming to be laughing, just a bit, at her discomfort. She was very lucky her friend was so noticeable, what with his shock of perfectly coiffed platinum hair. 

“Lily,” she asked quietly, as the woman pulled Oliver to her other side to pose for a picture while walking. “Do you mind if I go ahead? I’m not a fan of crowds.”

“Fine,” Lily replied through her smile. “Come here and give me a hug before you go, darling, and make sure to write.”

Hope fluttered in her chest momentarily as Lily drew her in for a long hug. 

Then she was half blinded by the flash of a camera. Of course, that was all the woman could think about, wasn’t it. She let Lily manhandle her into a smooth series of affectionate poses as the cameras clicked all around them, and when she was finally released, she practically bolted to the other end of the platform, weaving through the masses and hoping to get lost in them. She was about eighty percent certain that she had succeeded before she let herself breathe again.

“Draco, Lady Malfoy,” she greeted, bowing. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

“You as well, Heiress,” Lady Mafoy returned. “I don’t believe you’ve met my husband?”

“I’m afraid I hadn’t had the pleasure, ma’am.”

“Well, Heiress, this is Lord Lucius Malfoy. Lucius, darling, this is Heiress Lavinia Potter,” she introduced, not wasting time in formal introduction. 

“Merry meet, milord,” she said with another bow.

Well, he certainly wasn’t as welcoming as the rest of his family was.

“You haven’t written me in a month,” Draco cut in to complain. “Here, I have Hera for you.” He pulled a cage from their trolley, and Lavinia’s face broke into a smile.

“I’ve been at the Potters’,” she said by way of explanation, slipping her fingers through the bars to pet the bird. “I wasn’t sure if they’d check my mail or anything.”

Oh, so  _ now _ Lord Malfoy wanted to look interested.

“Oh. Probably for the best,” he admitted grudgingly. “I doubt they’d have approved of us writing.”

“Where are they now?” Lady Malfoy asked with a frown, glancing around the station. 

“Just follow the horde of reporters,” she sighed.

“Of course.” A different woman would have rolled her eyes. “Are you excited for school, Heiress? I know my Draco has spoken of nothing else for weeks.”

“Very, milady. I’ve studied my books, but I’m sure it can’t stack up in the least. And please, just Lavinia,” she added. Lady Woodward had said it was customary for the person of higher status to offer their name first, but she had also said that she could use her own judgement, and hers told her that Lady Malfoy had held off to make Lavinia more comfortable. She figured it couldn’t be too different from how she still called Lucy’s parents Mr. and Ms. Owen, and Colleen’s parents Mr. and Ms. Hewitt after years of knowing them, and the formality had melted away into the common language, but titles still meant more in the magical world, and she wouldn’t want to come off as strange.

“Narcissa then, I insist. We are related, even, after all.”

“We are?” Lavinia repeated, her excitement bubbling up.

“Related?” Draco asked, sounding horrified.

“Distantly,” Narcissa- no, that was just strange. Ms. Malfoy sniffed. She threw a knowing look at Draco, who already looked a bit relieved, a very strange reaction, in Lavinia’s mind at least. She wasn’t sure why being related would be a  _ bad _ thing. But maybe wanted to see her more as a friend and less as a family member, less obligation, more choice, perhaps. “Your grandmother, Dorea, was a Black,” she explained. “I myself am a Black by birth as well. I’m a distant Aunt for you.”

“It’s almost ten o’clock,” Lord Malfoy interrupted them before Lavinia could reply. “It wouldn’t do for either of you to miss the train.”

Ms. Malfoy’s face fell, and Lavinia wondered if she wanted to cry. Auntie had cried a few times over Lavinia leaving for Hogwarts, and that was before she had even left.

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly, pulling Draco into a hug. “I love you, dragon,” she told him, softer now. “Be sure to write me every week, alright? And have fun, darling, but remember you’re at school to learn.”

“I  _ know _ , Mother,” he grouched, but Lavinia could see his smile anyways.

“Oh, I know you know, but you also I know that I have to tell you these things regardless,” she teased, and Lavinia was so acutely reminded of Auntie that it hurt. “You know I worry about you, dragon,” she added, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

When she finally released Draco, Lavinia made to pick up her things, but she was pulled into a warm hug before she could. 

“You write, too, Lavinia. We’d love to get letters from you, as well, though I won’t make you write every week like I do with Draco,” the woman told her very seriously. She leaned in conspiratorially. “And I’m quite sure Draco will invite you for Yule break, so I’ll let you know now that you are welcome at the Manor whenever you wish to come.” She released her fro the embrace, holding her shoulders lightly. “Good luck, dear.”

Lavinia already missed her warmth. “Thank you, Ms. Malfoy. I’ll be sure to write.”

She took Hera’s cage in one hand and turned to Draco, who already had his arm out for her to take. “Shall we?”

He nodded. “Merry part, Mother, Father.”

They made their way through the mob, barely holding onto each other, and took the nearest door to the train. 

“Do the muggles really not see all this?” she asked, looking out at the crowds through the window of the compartment they had taken and, even through the glass, hearing the screaming of frantic children and crying parents and screeching owls.

“You tell me. Did you ever see platform nine and three-quarters when you came to King’s Cross?”

“Well, no, but- no,” she allowed. “It’s very effective magic, whatever it is.”

“Some sort of ward, I’d assume,” he added. “I’m sure you could find a book on it if you really want to know.”

She wrinkled her nose, turning back from the window and pulling her feet onto the seat beside her. “I think I’ll remain comfortable in my ignorance, at least for the time being.”

Draco nodded. “Hide,” he said suddenly, waving his wand so the blinds on the windows would draw themselves. She was too shocked not to do as he said, ducking down, facing away from the window, pulling up the collar of her robes so that her hair wouldn’t be so visible.

She remained like that, barely breathing, for a good minute or so, before Draco sighed in relief. “I apologize about that,” he said sheepishly, helping her adjust her tie, as it had gotten all skewed. “It was Oliver Potter, looking in all the windows to find the right compartment. Not sure if he wanted an empty one or his fanclub, but I figured it would be best for him not to see us together this soon.”

“A perfectly legitimate reason,” she dismissed. “Though I suppose he’ll have to find out at some point. I don’t think I’ll be in Gryffindor, that’s for sure. I’m sure they’ll all be heartbroken that I’ve broken the family code.”

“I wish you luck.”

She was certainly going to need it, wasn’t she.

Draco was a very good travel companion, something she learned very quickly. It was quite a long train ride to Hogwarts, and most of it was spent in comfortable silence. They each read their respective books, making occasional observations and asking questions when they came up. A lady with a trolley of snacks stopped by, and they took a break then so that Draco could introduce her to magical candy- animated frogs for one to eat? It turned her stomach, even if they were made of chocolate- and that gave them the opportunity to get to know each other a bit better, and for Lavinia to realize that she  _ really _ should have brought muggle candy with her. Though the sugar coated butterfly wings were far better than they should have been. She almost forgot to feel bad.

They practiced their spells, too, once Draco realized that she really had been practicing. She didn’t tell him about the magic she had learned from Astok, but her level of control still stuck out clearly as someone who had done a lot of magic. They ran through the list of spells for first year, turning it into a game where one of them would call out a spell and the other had to cast it as quickly as possible. It went on until they had exhausted easily have the course list, and they had dissolved into fits of laughter after Draco shot water directly down her robes and she responded with a barrage of stinging hexes until he finally apologized. 

They had returned to their books after that so that they wouldn’t create any real mess before going into the school, but they were closer after that, or at least more familiar, and Lavinia couldn’t help but be happy with how it had turned out.

“There it is,” Draco breathed reverently, throwing a packet of sweets at Lavinia to get her attention. 

Once she was done glaring at him for acting uncivilised, she turned to the window, watching as the castle came clearly into view. It was the most intimidating building she had seen in her whole life, tall and imposing, made entirely of grey stone with warm light glowing through the windows, though she supposed it would likely appear much softer when it wasn’t right at sundown, not dark enough for stars and not light enough for the sun. It was beautiful, though, really, and she told Draco as much. 

It could be home, she felt. Home away from home, at least.

The train finally stopped at the station in the town near the school, and while the older years piled into carriages, the new students were herded down a path by a man who was at least six times the size of any normal person. Oliver appeared to know the man, though, so she had an excuse not to get too close. 

They took boats over a lake that was probably once a full moat, were she to guess, and they were joined by two of Draco’s friends, a girl named Pansy who didn’t seem to like her very much, but seemed nice regardless, and a boy named Logan who Draco told her he was convinced would go to Hufflepuff. It only took about three minutes in the boy’s presence for Lavinia to agree.

The giant man led them into the entrance hall where an old woman ordered them to form a line in the sharpest tone she had ever heard. She didn’t sound unkind or anything similar, but everything about her seemed to be made of sharp points, from her dress to her hat to her hair to her eyes.

She took them into the great hall, which turned out to be the biggest room Lavinia had laid eyes on. It truly was great, with impossibly high ceilings that the girl in front of her informed her were charmed to look like the sky outside, as though she hadn’t already read the book herself, and sweeping windows over four long tables each decorated in the houses’ colors, with easily a thousand candles floating around in the air above them. It was beautiful.

The first years crowded around the back of the hall, and Lavinia could see, straight down the middle aisle, a rickety three legged stool with a filthy old pointed hat sitting on top. 

She could feel the anticipation in the room, and just when it was dying down, when someone was probably about to ask what happened next, the hat opened its… mouth? Brim? It didn’t really matter what to call it, she decided, because it immediately started to sing, the most off-key, rambling song she had ever heard. 

That went on for a few minutes, and they were minutes she would never get back. The song did seem to calm people’s nerves, however, as one can’t be particularly anxious in the face of such ridiculousness, so she could appreciate that, and she did like that the hat gave a bit of clarification on the house system.

Then the woman, Professor McGonagall, as she had introduced herself, began to read off their names, and she took back her previous statement. She could definitely still be anxious.

“Abbott, Hannah,” was the first name she called, belonging to a girl with short blonde pigtails and a skip in her step, who was sorted to Hufflepuff after a few moments. Logan was called next, and Draco was very smug when he was sorted to Hufflepuff, quickly followed by “Bones, Susan”, another Hufflepuff, and “Boot, Terry” who went to Ravenclaw. 

Each sorting was followed by applause, though the Slytherins received significantly less than the rest. The first Slytherin was “Bulstrode, Millicent”, and she actually received a few boo’s, though she appeared to take them in stride. Lavinia made sure to clap a little louder anyways.

Oliver, she noticed, wasn’t paying attention in the least, turned with his back to the hall entirely to talk to a boy with hair even redder than his. She was sure she would laugh at it later, but he didn’t even notice when “Evans, Lavinia” was called.

She was somewhat put off balance by the name called, but walked up to the stool nonetheless. She had received two letters, after all; it would make sense that her name was on there twice.

Eyes seemed to be glued to her as she walked, her heels clicking on the marble floor much louder than she would have normally intended, but she told herself it was all just her nerves. She really had no idea, but, realistically, no one cared all that much where she was sorted. Besides, telling herself anything else would only make it worse.

It felt strange to wear a talking hat. It was like the chocolate frogs- if it looked or acted alive, she didn’t want to use it for its original purpose. Once she had the hat on her head, it was even stranger. She could practically feel a presence in her mind, and it wasn’t even an intrusive one, just slipping around her brain in a way that gave her shivers.

Then, of course, it had to start talking.

_ “Curious, curious,” _ was all it said at first, and she barely noticed it for a few moments until it hit her that such a thought was not her own. It could speak out loud, so why would it be at all surprising that it would be able to speak in her head?

_ Why curious? _ she asked, and, honestly, science fiction had lied to her. Speaking telepathically was  _ not _ easy. Talking by thinking was not natural, and was in fact quite challenging mentally.

_ “Just not what I expected,” _ it replied, dismissing her concerns.  _ “Brave, I suppose, but no, more in a Hufflepuff way than a Gryffindor. You really do tend to only speak up for other people instead of yourself, hm? _

Called out by a hat. That was a new one.

_ I do not- _

_ “Right, right, you can also do it if you convince yourself you’re just following instructions or acting the way you find proper.” _

Not helpful. She wanted to sigh, though reacting to the voice in her head may have appeared quite strange.

_ “Worried about appearance…” _

_ Just pick _ , she huffed.

_“Fine, fine,”_ it complained. “ _I almost want to put you in Ravenclaw, but not if you’re going to be so impatient about it. They wouldn’t know what to do with someone like you. So dramatic, you are.”_

_ Is your entire job to insult people and sing off-key? _ she shot back, as sweetly as one could in their own head.

It sounded smug.  _ “Precisely. Better be  _ SLYTHERIN,” it screamed for the hall to hear.

Her applause was even lighter than expected, but Draco was clapping, and that was what mattered really. She set the hat back on the stand and walked to her table as her tie and the lining of her robes shifted to green and silver, taking a seat across from the Bulstrode girl who just glared at her and leaving an empty space beside her for Draco, once he was sorted. 

He was sorted, to Slytherin as expected, not too long after, and was very quickly followed by Parkinson, who took the seat on his other side and seemed quite upset when he didn’t turn to talk to her, watching the sorting instead and muttering wry comments to Lavinia under his breath.

It was only a few names after Parkinson that McGonagall called “Potter, Lavinia”, which, obviously, didn’t bring anyone running to the hat.

She called it again.

Nothing.

People began talking, whispering, murmured comments and loud cries alike, and finally Lavinia had to stand up to be heard. 

“Ma’am?” she asked, and Draco placed a hand over hers, resting on the table, to reassure her. The room went silent.

“Yes, Miss…”

“Evans, ma’am. Lavinia Evans Potter. I don’t believe I need to be sorted twice, is that correct?” Her voice shook, just a little, at the end.

The hall burst into conversation so suddenly that it came out as a roar, like a wild beast come to tear her down, to corner her into one of the cold stone walls, shrink her down into a curled up ball, and coat her hair in cobwebs. She had no patience for such a thing, she decided, and stood tall, her head high even if she wanted nothing more than to keep it bowed.

“No,” Professor McGonagall replied finally, almost shouting over the crowd, looking a little shaken up by the uproar and the strange circumstances. “A technical error, I’m sure, and one we’ll be looking into. Thank you for speaking up.”

Then came “Potter, Oliver” and everyone suddenly seemed to lose their ability to talk. He strode confidently to the stool, giving the people he walked past high-fives and handshakes as he passed. It couldn’t have been more than five seconds, five seconds of bated breath, until he was sorted, and the entire room, hold the majority of the Slytherin table, cheered loud enough to make Lavinia’s ears ring.

The sorting past that was rather uneventful, especially in comparison, and it wasn’t too much longer until it was over, and an old man with a long white beard that Draco told her was Dumbledore rose from his place at the table.

“Now that we are all where we belong,” Dumbledore began, “there are a few things that must be said. First, that the Forbidden Forest is, for all intents and purposes, forbidden.” There were a few snorts at that, mostly from the Gryffindor table, but everyone seemed between amused and disapproving at the shocking news. “Your schedules will be handed out in the morning, and your prefects will explain the minor rules and curfews. Prefects,” he gestured to them and a handful of students at each table stood and waved. “I also must introduce our new Defense professor. Everyone please give a warm welcome to Professor Quirrell.”

A man in a purple turban rose nervously to a weak applause, giving a slight bow and sitting back down just as quickly.

“Professor Quirrell stepped up as Defense teacher from the Muggle Studies position, so let us also welcome our new Muggle Studies professor, Professor Burbage.”

An even weaker round.

“There is only one final thing. For this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is entirely out of bounds for all of you who do not wish to die a deeply horrific death,” he warned, and Lavinia was about to laugh until she saw how serious he looked. 

That was certainly something  _ deeply _ disturbing.

“Now, I believe that is everything that must be said before we eat,” he said at last, dropping the serious act so abruptly that she felt she was about to get whiplash and looking at the crowd fondly over his half moon spectacles, “so I believe it is time to stuff our bellies with all the food that we can handle. Dig in.”

And they did. 

It was more food in one place than Lavinia had seen in her entire life, probably combined. Dish after dish was piled high in the middle of the table, holding every type of food imaginable. She took a bit of lamb prepared in some vaguely Mediterranean looking way and a large helping of spiced vegetables, feeling that a stomach ache would not be the best way to spend her very first night, and did exactly as instructed, only pausing enough to speak with Draco.

A lot of the table seemed to be watching her- not constantly or anything, but there always seemed to be quite a few pairs of eyes on her no matter what she did. 

Everyone, or the younger years at least, seemed to be talking about classes, which ones they looked forward to, which ones they dreaded, which ones they knew nothing about. Draco had been sucked into a conversation on Potions with a few of the older years, a subject Lavinia only knew about in theory, so her meal was mainly spent listening to the conversations around her.

She learned a good bit about the professors by listening; McGonagall, for instance, was the transfiguration professor, and she was just as sharp as she appeared, but apparently she was also one of the best teachers in the school. Quirrell, she learned, had gotten back from a summer in Albania with a stutter and a irrational fear of vampires, and likely she would have to self-study most of the material, which was highly unfortunate, as a class like Defense Against the Dark Arts had quite a lot of potential.

It was only an hour or so, she would guess, until the food had been mainly cleared away, with only a few students left who picked at their desserts. Dumbledore gave another short speech, one that sounded like the speeches given at normal schools as well, all “make this year a good one” and every other cliche. She tried to tune it out.

The prefects were then ordered to lead them to their respective common rooms, and Lavinia quickly realized that the castle was even bigger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. The walk to the common room, which was all the way in the dungeons, took at least fifteen minutes walking quite briskly, and they finally stopped at what appeared to be a short, dead-end hallways.

“Through here is the Slytherin dormitory,” one of the prefects said, tapping her wand against the stone, making a section of it slide away to reveal the green and silver chambers. She smiled, a vaguely threatening look on her. “Welcome to your new home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I missed a day of posting, but this chapter is over 7k words so no one gets to @ me. I hope you all enjoyed, and please let me know what you think!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavinia explores and thinks and meets people, though it doesn't go quite as well as she would have liked. Oh well, at least she's at Hogwarts!

The Slytherin complex was beautiful, there was no better word for it. 

Most everything was done in house colors, as she learned was consistent with the other houses, but it was all her exact style, and apparently the same went for everyone else. The common room was done in that dark, natural style that felt like old knowledge and hot tea and weighted blankets, like an ancient library, which, she supposed, it was. There were shelves instead of walls, stuffed with books, shelves neatly labelled with different topics and genres. The tables and chairs were dark wood with green accents, green velvet couches, green pillows of all different sizes and shapes and patterns, ready to be thrown across the room or levitated with a spell or just rested upon, as pillows were after all made to do.

A tutoring schedule was pinned to the wall- mandatory study sessions and optional ones- as she realized they took their reputation quite seriously, a trait she could appreciate. She had no idea how she would survive in a house where people didn’t care or put in effort. She didn’t need to only surround herself with people as obsessive and maniacal as she knew she could be on a bad day, but, wonderful as her muggle friends were, it would be refreshing to be around people who understood, and even mimicked the behaviors themselves.

The ceilings were high and the doorways arched, keeping the dark room from feeling like the dungeon it was, and _Circe_ , was that a cool concept. She could imagine Lucy’s reaction if she told the girl that her dorm room was in the dungeons, and she really hoped that she would be able to tell her. She had decided to be very careful about what information she shared, lest her story contradict itself, so she would have to hold off until she knew exactly what to say.

Lavinia was up early the first morning at school, as she wasn’t particularly comfortable sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, regardless of how comfortable it was or how extravagant the castle was that it was located in. Breakfast opened early, she knew that much from the speech their head of house, Professor Sinistra, had given the night before, but they had been asked to all go to Sunday brunch at ten o’clock that morning to receive their schedules, so she didn’t want to go so early that it would just be inconvenient.

She took the time, instead, to snoop around the common room, grabbing a few books from the shelves that looked too interesting to pass up, just in case someone else tried to take them before she had another chance. It wasn’t even five, so she was the only one up in her house, and she was grateful for the time alone to just _see_ everything.

She wanted to see how the fires in the common room burned green, but emitted a warm glow at the same time. She wanted to see why there was a whole wall of glass that looked out to the Black Lake, what there was to see there. She wanted to discover the hidden places on her own, with no one to question her about her motives or her reasons or ask her any questions about her life or her feelings about Hogwarts, not when it was so early.

Early morning was for discoveries and relaxation. Nothing more.

She learned that the door in the corner led to a tower, if a rather short one, with only one room at the top, a round one with windows on all sides, and she learned that there was a rickety ladder one could climb to take them on the roof of the tower, a perfectly flat surface with a high railing around, so perhaps roof wouldn’t be the best term, and she could still see a few stars when she looked up at the sky.

She had stayed up there for a while, just thinking about everything and watching the sunrise, before finally she realized how much time had passed, and went back down, lest anyone wake up and think her to be gone, and continued her search for all the interesting places. 

Most of what she found was nothing particularly special, just small rooms for various types of magic that needed their own space- a space for potions with a full supply cabinet and a room that appeared to just be heavily warded with very thick stone walls and no furniture to speak of that she assumed was for testing stronger magic than was particularly smart in the middle of the common room. But what she did find, finally- and she was reminded of why she’d heard the older students refer to the Sytherin rooms as a whole as ‘the complex’, as the room was down about a million little hallways and through even more doors and around more corners than she realized there could be in what she assumed to be a relatively small space- was a ballroom. A beautiful, beautiful ballroom with walls of huge mismatched mirrors and a ceiling that would have belonged in a cathedral, had the paintings been of characters in the Bible and not figures that she didn’t quite recognize, despite the nagging feeling in the back of her mind, but vowed to learn.

She wondered if it was used often, and what for, if it was. Did they throw great balls on the holidays, extravagant in-house dances and the like? Or just normal parties, or maybe great ragers with drinks the upper years smuggled in and music loud enough to blow her eardrums? It was a funny thought, the last one, and not just because she imagined Draco would be absolutely ridiculous when drunk. The irony simply didn’t escape her of the the most proper students in the entire school using their ballroom to throw ragers. 

When her watch finally showed her that it was almost nine, she left, forcing the desire to use the room to dance into the back of her mind, promising herself that she would be back to dance the next morning, or, hell, that night, if she could. She made her way back to the first year girls’ dormitories, which were on the third level of the dungeons and quite a trip from the ballroom. She would have to try and find a better way to get there, she decided, adding it to the mental to-do list that would really need to become a physical written list if it got any longer, if she wanted to actually remember the things, that was.

The Slytherin dorms were laid out quite nicely, she thought, with each year’s rooms laid out much like a horseshoe, the entrance leading to a small sitting room in the middle of it, with rooms most of the way around it for each girl, and on the other side were the bathrooms, a large communal one they all shared, with a sink space for each of them, a shower on each end, and two freestanding bathtubs to lounge in. 

Lavinia wondered briefly if the magical world had bathbombs. 

From what she had heard from James and Lily, the Gryffindor dorms were laid out quite differently, though that was mainly because they were in a tower, with the bottom floor as the common room, and each of the seven floors above that were for each year, with first year on the lowest floor. Girls would be on one side, boys on the other, with only two great, semi-circle rooms on each floor, a small shared bathroom in each of them. Instead of each student having their own room, the beds simply lined the walls, and each had a small bedside table, nothing more. Ridiculous interior planning, she though, but it really wasn’t her problem. She supposed the Slytherin layout wouldn’t work for the Gryffindors, anyway, as they appeared to have easily over twice the students that Slytherin did. If Slytherin suddenly grew to that size, she was sure that they would have to have roommates as well.

She liked having her own room, small as it was, with her own desk and wardrobe and bookshelf. She could stay up as late as she wanted, wear as few clothes as she wanted, do whatever she wanted within the space of her room without bothering anyone. 

Everything in the dorms, luckily, was painted a plain white, though set off with dark furniture, as, unlike the Gryffindor dorms, there was no wall of windows to keep the room light. She already had ideas for things she wanted to pin to the walls, to make the room seem a little more hers.

She changed from her nightclothes to her uniform, wearing a black skirt and white blouse under her robes with black socks that reached just above her knee and her platformed mary-jane style shoes. It was strange; for all the specifics on the school robes, they didn’t seem to care much what one wore under them, so long as it was formal and neutral, and she had even seen some of the older years in button downs and blouses in their house colors. They didn’t care about shoes either, as St. Margaret’s did, and she was grateful that she didn’t bring half her shoe collection just to learn she couldn’t wear them.

She had showered the night before, as she hadn’t been sure when she would wake up or whether the showers would be occupied when she got up. Only one of them was, though she couldn’t tell who it was that was up, and she busied herself instead at the sink at the end that she decided to claim for herself, washing her face and brushing her teeth, hesitating over the handful of cosmetics she had brought with her just in case, and finally opting not to wear any, as she didn’t particularly want to stand out as muggle in front of her house. It really was quite a relief to learn that there would be no pressure to wear any, not the way there was at St. Margaret’s, where everyone was wearing some, though luckily rather lightly in most cases.

Once she was cleaned up, her hair braided and her tie straightened, she left the bathroom to wait in the sitting room for one of the other girls to be up. She had suggested, the night before, that they all go down to breakfast together, and they had all agreed, if some of them rather more reluctantly than the others, to meet in their sitting room at nine thirty. Lavinia had practically seen the words on the tips of everyone’s tongues the night before, but she had also seen their drooping eyes, and felt her own yawns coming a bit quicker, and opted for the easiest option, one that didn’t require her to stay up any later than necessary.

She had brought a book, just in case she had to wait a bit anyways, but two girls were already there, sitting together on one of the couches, pouring over a magazine with more enthusiasm than Lavinia usually saw in girls looking at society magazines.

“Good morning,” Lavinia greeted, waving with her free hand and taking a seat in the oversized chair beside the end of the sofa they shared.

“Merry meet,” one greeted, a distracted sort of smile on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes, the other simply smiling slightly and inclining her head.

There were a few moments of silence. “I’m Lavinia,” she said finally. “Heiress Lavinia of House Potter.”

“Heiress Daphne of House Greengrass,” the quiet one replied, brushing her blonde hair behind her shoulder. “And my friend, Miss Tracey of House Davies. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Yours as well, both of you,” she told them earnestly, feeling a bit relieved that they hadn’t snuffed her. There was no particular reason for her to believe that they would have, but she preferred not to err on the expectant side. “We’re to live together for the next few years; I do hope we can remain on good terms for the extent of it.”

Daphne looked at her strangely, a bit of surprise, a little confusion, but nothing in the least unpleasant. “Mercury’s blessing to you as well, Heiress.”

“Forgive me?”

“‘And may travellers, among each other’s company, find pleasure in the time first without solitude’,” Heiress Greengrass quoted.

“‘And may their kindness run its course only when their time together comes to an end’,” Lavinia finished, grinning through her confusion. 

“It’s called Mercury’s blessing,” Heiress Greengrass clarified, looking quite pleased that Lavinia had known her reference, passing the magazine to Miss Davies so as to give Lavinia her attention. “I had figured you were referencing it with your sentiment.”

“Not intentionally, I don’t suppose,” Lavinia admitted. “But I’ve never heard it called that, though I hope that to be more an issue of my upbringing than my ignorance.”

“No,” she replied drily, “I’m quite certain the Potters didn’t raise you a pagan, Heiress Potter.”

“They raised me nothing at all, Heiress Greengrass,” Lavinia said pleasantly. “I grew up with my muggle aunt. My knowledge of this world is from independent study and the tutors she hired for me, though the poem is just one I learned in my studies."

Heiress Greengrass looked like she had sucked on a lemon and made a truly valiant effort to hide it, where Miss Davies seemed not to care if she saw her disgust. “That’s very interesting,” was all she said. “You must have had very good tutors; I would not have guessed from your composure.”

“Thank you, Heiress.”

“Daphne,” she corrected. “Assuming the offer is returned. It would be a disrespect to His blessing to vow so much yet have so little to show for it. We are to spend seven years in each other’s company, and I believe the time will be spent with far more value if we begin on a first name basis.”

Lavinia bowed slightly. “You do me an honor, Daphne. The familiarity is of course returned, let it be on Mercury’s name.”

Raised a pagan, hm? That was something she certainly hadn’t expected, or at least not the way she expected it. She knew wizards and witches celebrated the solstices, and the wheel of the year and all that, but she had figured it was more just a set of rituals to strengthen magic rather than what she was now more sure would be ceremonies to the gods and goddesses and the like. It was certainly a practice she could get behind- there was much more room for deep connection among a pantheon than an omniscient figure, not to mention that if British witches used the Roman pantheon as reference, then she was far less out of her depth than she could have been otherwise. Rome, thank Circe, was something she knew quite a great deal about.

It was then that Parkinson and another girl, whose name Lavinia couldn’t remember for the life of her, finally came to join them.

“You all look quite pleased for such an early hour,” Parkinson sniffed, a hint of humor in her words. “Is there an occasion for it?”

“Besides our first day of Hogwarts, Pansy?” Daphne asked incredulously. 

“A very exciting time, but not worth being happy at nine in the morning,” she grouched. “Merry meet, Miss Davies, Heiress Potter. I don’t believe you’ve met Heiress Millicent of House Bulstrode.”

Bulstrode. Right. That’s what her name had been.

“I’m afraid not. Merry meet, Heiress.”

She nodded politely in return, leaving a slightly awkward silence before Parkinson yawned.

“Did you not sleep well?” Lavinia asked, sympathizing with her. “I always have trouble sleeping away from home.”

“I slept fine,” she snapped, before taking a slow breath and continuing in a more even tone. “I’m just one to prefer rising late in the morning, even into the early afternoon. I’m sure I’ll get used to it at some point, though it’s a bit embarrassing, I must admit. It would really be quite... _Gryffindor-ish_ to be late to breakfast the first day.”

“We won’t let you be late,” Daphne assured her. “We’ll come pounding at your door if that’s what it takes.”

Parkinson had turned a bit pink at that but smiled nevertheless. “I greatly appreciate that,” she said primly.

“Shall we head to breakfast?” Lavinia cut in. “It’s getting close to ten o’clock, and it’s better to be early than late.”

“Lead the way,” Parkinson offered, and Daphne and Tracey came to walk beside her, Parkinson and Bulstrode close behind, as the group wove through the dungeons to the main hall.

They were walking among a stream of their fellow Slytherins, as everyone had gotten the same instructions for when to go, and when they got to the great hall, Lavinia realized that they were likely the only house that got the memo. The Slytherin table appeared to have been empty until their crowd arrived, and by the time the girls got into the hall themselves, it was mostly full, but the other tables had a scattered group of students, some arriving and some already leaving.

The aisle in the dead center was the widest in the hall, and first years always sat at the end by the dais, so the girls opted to go through and around, rather than have to spend a few minutes of excuse me- pardon me- coming through- and squeezing sideways between people. It was when they were almost to the front that a leg came out in front of Lavinia’s feet, and it was only years of dance and Daphne grabbing her arm that kept her from falling.

“What the hell?” she asked, turning to the boy who had done it. She was pretty sure she recognized him, but she wasn’t sure where from. Probably just remembered him from the sorting.

“Why are you a fucking snake?” asked the boy across from him.

Oh, that was right. He was the boy Oliver had spent the whole sorting talking to.

The already quiet hall had gone a bit quieter at his question, though those who had seen her tripped were already watching rather intently, and she could see a few necks craning to see drama so early in the year. It was almost a bit refreshing; clearly not everything was different in the magical world.

“Well, dear brother, I would assume that I’m a snake because the hat sorted to me to Slytherin, much the same way it sorted you to Gryffindor,” she answered evenly, seeing Tracey snicker out of the corner of her eye.

“Yea, I know how the sorting works,” he shot back, and Lavinia cut him off before he could finish what she was sure would be a _devastating_ retort.

“Congratulations,” she said airily, turning away from him.

“I just want to know what the hell you have inside you that makes you one of _them_ ,” he spat. “You filthy little snake.”

She began to walk away, the rest of the girls taking her lead.

“Dad already told you: Potters are Lions,” he called after her. “I’ll have to ask him what that makes you.” She could hear the boys around him laugh at that, and she felt the anger rushing to her cheeks, chilling her smile.

Her nails bit into her palm, but she held her head high. “I already know what I am,” she replied, loud enough for him to hear but not looking back at her brother. “I’m an Evans.”

_I am Lavinia Hyadette Evans, and I will not be lost._

Only one other person tried to trip her for the rest of their walk, another boy she thought was either her year or one older. He, luckily, didn’t succeed, as she saw the leg out before she quite got to it and simply avoided it. 

The girls, Parkinson and Bulstrode especially, were looking at her quite curiously, and she could already tell that breakfast would be nothing more than a glorified story time for her entire life story. They took seats at Slytherin together, letting the first year boys take the exact end of the table while they took the seats a few places in, Lavinia making sure to get the seat next to Draco. 

“Unless you can ensure that it won’t happen again, I suggest telling us what that was all about or we’ll choose not looking like idiots over supporting you next time,” Daphne said evenly.

“I’m not really sure where you want me to start,” Lavinia admitted. “I grew up with my muggle aunt, I took a lot of lessons, the Potters came by to take me back on my birthday, I stayed there for a month, Oliver doesn’t like me.” She would have shrugged if that was something people did. 

“Muggles?” Parkinson repeated, a grimace wrinkling her upturned nose. 

“You grew up with muggles?” Bulstrode echoed, looking as though the bite of her breakfast she had just taken had been made of worms and mold for how disgusted she seemed.

Lavinia just nodded. _They don’t have to all like you,_ she remembered Lady Miera saying once. _A fairweather friend is no different than an enemy when the time comes, just more pleasant in the meanwhile._

Professor Sinistra came over then, and Lavinia breathed a sigh of relief. Saved by the bell. 

“First year schedules,” she announced, handing the stack of parchment to a boy on the end, Nott, maybe, who passed them down the row. “Classes will begin tomorrow morning. The back of your schedules is a map and it will show the location of whoever is holding it, not of whoever the schedule belongs to. The next person to attempt to use these to find someone will only look like an idiot chasing their own shadow.”

Lavinia smiled at that, grateful that someone had thought to not keep tracking devices on all of them.

“And firsties,” she added, “any of the older years will help you find the classrooms you need. Asking for help is far preferable to being late or lost.” And she continued down the line, handing out the necessary schedules to each of the Slytherins.

“We start our Monday mornings with _History of Magic,_ ” Parkinson groaned. 

“It’s like they want us to jump off the astronomy tower our first day,” Daphne agreed solemnly, and given the speech Dumbledore had given about the first floor corridor the night before, Lavinia had no clue whether or not she was kidding.

“I’m missing something here.”

“Yeah, a brain,” Parkinson muttered, probably thinking Lavinia couldn’t hear, though even if she hadn’t, she would have been able to see Bulstrode and Davies smothering laughs.

She chose not to show that she had heard anything at all. Any resulting conflict would be a waste of time. She instead just waited, spreading a bit of lemon curd on her pancakes and dumping cooked berries over the top.

“History of Magic is notoriously taught by the most boring professor in the whole world,” Draco answered her implied question earnestly. “Professor Binns is a ghost- no one knows how long he’s been around, but everyone in living memory had him as a teacher, and he’s only been losing his, well, not-mind ever since.”

“Mother says the class is a waste of time,” Daphne cut in. “And Mother loves learning things everyone considers boring. She actually let me know that I have permission to skip it as long as my grade remains an E or an O and I use the spare time to study.”

Lavinia’s brows shot up at that. “Wouldn’t he notice you were skipping?”

“No one actually stops you from skipping,” cut in a girl a few seats to her right who she would guess was around her fourth year. “Some teachers will take points if they see you fucking around when you’re supposed to be in class, but the teacher for the class is unlikely to do anything but wait and watch you fail the next lesson. _Then_ they’ll get you in trouble.”

Lavinia processed that for a moment. “So if you keep up in the class and don’t embarrass yourself, you can skip when you want to?”

“Exactly,” the girl replied smugly. “Especially with Slytherin teachers, though there are only a few. You don’t get in trouble for breaking rules, you get in trouble for being stupid and getting yourself caught.”

“Sounds like my kind of management,” she replied lightly.

The older girl laughed. “Mine as well. I’m Cornelia, Scion Cornelia of House Travers.”

“Lavinia Evans, Heiress Lavinia of House Potter,” she returned. “Merry meet, Miss Travers.”

“Merry meet, Miss, erm-”

“Evans, if you will.”

Travers looked at her curiously, the kind of expectant intrigue of someone who clearly knew something she did not, though she wasn’t sure how someone would know more about her than she did herself. “Merry meet, Miss Evans.”

Travers turned back to her friends, but Lavinia watched her for a few more moments before turning away. “One more question,” she said sheepishly, scanning her schedule. “Why are almost all our classes with the Gryffindors?”

She heard one of the boys on the end of the table exclaim ‘what!?’, and everyone immediately looked back to their schedules to see what she was on about.

“Merlin, you’re right,” the boy she thought was Nott called down to her, leaning forward to see her past the people between them. “We have, what, two blocks without them all week?”

“Three,” Daphne corrected absently. “You’re forgetting that we have two blocks of Herbology, Theo.”

“They still clearly want a murder in the first week. And it’s Theodore, Daphne.”

“Whatever you say.”

"What's wrong with Gryffindors?" Lavinia spoke up hesitantly. "I mean it's certainly very strange to have all our classes with one house, but what's actually wrong with them?"

"Everything's wrong with Gryffindors," Davies replied.

"Nothing's wrong with them on principle," Daphne said, glaring at Davies. "But they hate us, and we see little reason to do much but return the favor. Ravens generally don't care, Puffs won't show it, but Lions..."

“This is ridiculous,” Draco spoke up, looking up from his schedule without realizing Lavinia had asked anything else. “We see Ravenclaws twice and Hufflepuffs once. How does that promote inter-House unity?”

“If inter-House unity is their goal, they’ve failed rather spectacularly,” Lavinia commented. 

“They think they haven’t,” Daphne denied, gesturing dismissively with her fork. “Gryffindors and Slytherins have had a rivalry for as long as anyone can remember, so they really do think they’re promoting inter-House unity by forcing us together.”

“Still seems ridiculous,” she sniffed. 

“That’s because it is.”

“Fridays are definitely our worst day,” Davies chimed in. “Transfiguration, then Charms, then double Potions, all with the Lions.”

Sighs were practically passed around their end of the table at that point.

Lavinia scanned the staff table as Professor Sinistra rejoined them, shooting her Head of House a smile, and as her eyes travelled across the dais she found the Headmaster’s eyes locked directly on hers. A shiver ran down her spine.

“Say, Travers,” Lavinia called, tearing her eyes from the Headmaster, getting the older girl’s attention. “Is your schedule like this, too? Everything but Herbology is with the Lions.”

Travers frowned, looking down at the schedule that was still folded beside her plate. “No? Fourth years have got about half our blocks with the Gryffs. Pretty normal, all the way around.”

That was definitely strange. Students only three years ahead had normal schedules, but her year paired every class between the greatest rivalry Hogwarts had ever known? All in the same year as a corridor being the possible cause of horrific death? Something was afoot, Lavinia was sure of it. The only question was whether or not it was something worth exploring any further.

The Headmaster was still watching her.

The nice thing about their first full day being a Sunday was that there were no classes whatsoever. Even Saturdays had one block of DADA for first years, but Sunday was blissfully free for the Lavinia to look around.

The girls spent the rest of the morning unpacking, with Lavinia, Daphne, and Tracey opting to keep their doors open to feel a little more open and community-like. Lavinia was grateful for the wardrobe in her room; she had far too many things to just leave in her trunk, not to mention the wrinkles. She felt better once she was more moved in, and she had just finished up when Draco knocked on the door to the girls’ sitting room to invite her for a walk on the grounds, which she immediately accepted.

Exploring the grounds was wonderful, as they surpassed even the Potters’ estate. It was also nice to have time to spend with Draco, as they both already had lots to tell each other. He reminded her to write Ms. Malfoy as well, as he didn’t much want his next letter from her to be filled with questions for Lavinia as well. She did so as soon as she was back to the Slytherin common room, sending Hera out with letters for the Malfoys, Auntie, and each of her friends.

The Gryffindors, she realized, along with the majority of the Hufflepuffs, looked at her with something between fear, confusion, and disgust, depending on the strength of their will. Some of the Ravens as well, though most either ignored her or shot her curious glances as though they wanted to ask her something but decided not to. And the Slytherins… good Circe, it was as though the entire school had teamed up against her. They didn’t act on it, obviously, as that was, according to Draco, against the first rule of the Slytherin code. A united front at all costs. To shun another Slytherin meant that one of you was not a Slytherin, and it took a very high chance of it not being you for that to be worth it. When a Slytherin was truly shunned by their housemates, even in public, you could know that they did something truly terrible. Draco said his father had been a first year when one of the sixth years was shunned, and the boy had actually left Hogwarts entirely to go to Ilvermorny. He really wasn’t joking when he said it was rare.

But inside the complex, everyone seemed torn between the silent treatment and insults, often opting for a combination of both. Draco, of course, kept on her side, and Daphne held true to her word under the god’s name, but aside from that it was only a few assorted upper years who didn’t seem to care enough about a random thirteen year old to act any particular way.

Most of it didn’t really affect her- it wasn’t as though she actually needed the entire school to like her. It would probably be quite nice in time to not have too much attention on her. Though she did wish the Slytherins in her year would quit their behavior; she would be living with them for seven years, and it really seemed like a waste to spend that time fighting.

She sat beside Daphne and across from Draco at dinner, and Travers had taken the seat on her other side, and she felt that, maybe, just maybe, she’d be just fine despite the hate that seemed to follow her like a personal raincloud. She was just excited for Hogwarts, excited for classes; it didn’t even matter if she had to get up for an hour and a half long lecture on the Goblin Wars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I'm going to try to have another one out tonight, but that's likely to be very late as I have a lot of planning to do for the new characters I just introduced. Let me know what you thought and what you'd like to see- comments fuel the process!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To quote one of my lovely commenters: schoolschoolschoolschoolschool

No, her classmates were definitely right. History of Magic was _not_ worth waking up for. Which was incredibly disappointing.

For Circe’s sake, it was the _history_ of _magic_ . It should have been fascinating. She had already skimmed the textbook and read the first two chapters, and the material was fascinating, even if the writing was a bit dry. But Professor Binns- who was a _ghost_ , of all things, and honestly, why was that even allowed- absolutely butchered the concepts, getting onto the topics of the Goblin Wars that they were supposed to cover about halfway through the year within fifteen minutes.

She timed it.

He drawled on for what felt like eternity, though it was really only an hour and a half, and his voice was a sort of soft monotone that was putting people to sleep all over the room. They shared the class with the Hufflepuffs, and they had all grouped up around a few desks, some just whispering to each other or passing notes, some doodling, and some reading through the first chapter of the textbook and discussing it. The Slytherins, on the other hand, were either sleeping, in the case of Parkinson, Davies, and a boy whose name may have been Zabini, or doing something on their own, whether that was reading, drawing, or writing something that probably wasn’t notes.

She took notes anyways, jotting down things he mentioned that she didn’t recognize and keeping a list of people and dates and battles that she figured writing down would help her remember. Did they have tests? She really had no clue. He didn’t assign them any homework that class, something she was grateful for, but she had heard from the older years that once he did start, it was brutal. He expected pages and pages of essays every few class periods, though no one knew how or if he graded them.

He was talking about the war from 1457-1482, a rather short war by Goblin standards. She remembered Astok mentioning that war once, when he was teaching her history, and, while he had disapproved of the original reasoning behind the war, and the way it was fought, he had grudgingly approved of the outcome, and considered it an incredibly important war to study. It was a dispute between goblin tribes over territory, which wasn’t particularly unusual for a war, but wizards had backed one side of the war and wiped out so many goblins on the opposing side that the goblins the wizards supported had chosen to give up the crusade and make peace, deciding that a war with such a death toll wasn’t meant to be for the tribes, and had stopped being a way to settle a dispute. The two tribes had combined into one after that, with the first tribe using all of their resources to heal the other. It was that war that had the goblins and wizards signing treaties to stay out of the other’s wars, and the treaty had been inhered to since.

Binns did the story no credit- Astok would be appalled. It was a relief when the class period was over.

“Shall we?” Daphne suggested, sitting quite primly on the edge of her desk and swinging her feet while Lavinia finished packing her things into her bag.

“Yes, let’s. Do you know where the transfiguration room is?” she asked. 

“No,” she admitted. “But it can’t be too hard, and I have my map. Besides, we have half an hour to get there. I’m sure within a few weeks we’ll be using that time to just relax.”

“I certainly hope so,” Lavinia agreed. “I feel like I need a nap just from listening to his voice. Sweet Circe, that class is boring.”

“Were you actually taking notes?” her friend asked as they left the room, which everyone else had already cleared out of.

She sighed. “Yes, though I somewhat regret it. The lecture wasn’t actually _bad_ is the thing, just irrelevant and poorly given. The actual material he was going on about isn’t covered until chapter eight or so in the book, but he was saying some things I didn’t recognize, so it’ll help to have them written down when exams come around.”

Daphne looked almost alarmed, though she could see the smile peeking through. “You’re a bit scary when you do that, you know. A bit crazy, too.”

“You’ll thank me when we have to do exam prep and you’ve read through every class,” Lavinia promised. 

“I certainly will,” Daphne agreed. “But I think remembering the chapter each of his topics is mentioned in is excessive. No one should know that much.”

Lavinia rolled her eyes. “The book is in four units of three chapters each, Daphne, and the third unit is Goblin Wars. Each unit is also told chronologically, and only goes through the fifteen-hundreds. He was talking about Goblin Wars from the fourteen-hundreds, which would put him near the end of the third unit, so right around chapter eight. You could get all that from the table of contents if you cared to open the book.”

Daphne pursed her lips. “Don’t assume I care to open the book then.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” the other girl sniffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. How did she get it so shiny? It had been just as straight that morning and the night before, so Lavinia knew she didn’t iron it, not to mention that she hadn’t seen anything about magical hair irons. Lavinia had enough hair products at home to fill an entire shelf of her cabinet and then some, and her hair _never_ looked that nice. It was infuriating.

“Right or left, pick one, the map shows it about the same distance.”

“Left.”

“Alright. And I’ll trade you help in any class I can if you share your History notes?” she asked hopefully.

“Deal.” 

A comfortable silence fell upon them.

“I believe… yes, that’s the room. Up on the right,” Daphne announced. “I think we may be the only people here yet.” She was correct, they realized, when they walked directly into an empty classroom. “Maybe we have the wrong room?” she asked.

“McGonagall’s name is written on the board,” Lavinia pointed out, once again remembering how strangely behind the magical world was in some ways, still having chalkboards of all things. Though, to be fair, she was sure there were spells for making the chalk write by itself, keeping it from sending chalk powder everywhere, cleaning itself- it didn’t seem quite so behind when she thought of it like that.

Daphne turned a bit pink, setting her things down at one of the desks and taking Lavinia’s to set on the desk beside it. “Oh. Right. Strange that she’s not here, though. Her class starts in twenty minutes.”

Lavinia was eyeing a cat on the desk, with rings around the eyes like spectacles and a sharper gaze than she’d ever seen in a cat. It even had perfect posture. “I think she is, actually, Daphne. I was reading Hufjan’s Summary of Human Transfigurations, and it mentioned that some people can turn into animals if they go through the proper processes. I don’t remember what it was called, though.”

“It’s called an Animagus transformation, Miss Potter… Evans?” answered the professor, shifting into human form and startling Daphne enough for her to fall back into her seat. “Ten points to Slytherin.”

“Thank you, Professor. And Evans, if you please.”

The woman nodded. “Why were you reading Hufjan’s Summary, Miss Evans? Is transfiguration an interest of yours?”

“With all due respect, Professor,” Daphne interrupted, “everything’s an interest of Lavinia’s.”

She smiled sheepishly. “She’s not incorrect,” she allowed. “I wanted to be prepared for my classes. I wasn’t sure how much the rest of the class would have already known.”

“I did the same thing before I began school,” the professor told her with a fond smile. “Though transfiguration was a specific interest for me.”

That piqued her interest. “So you’ve always known transfiguration was your area of magic, Professor?” she asked. “And when did you learn the Animagus transformation?”

“Always,” she agreed. “Though I did love Herbology in school as well. But Transfiguration was always my best subject. Headmaster Dumbledore was my professor, as a matter of fact.” She laughed when the girls’ jaws dropped. “Yes, he was a professor here, right in my position, as a matter of fact. Transfiguration professor, deputy Headmaster, though he wasn’t the Head of Gryffindor as I am now. Even now I must wonder if he knew all along I’d end up here.”

Lavinia was smiling at the story, as it really was quite sweet, and made sure to file away the information the professor dropped about herself. _No such thing as useless information_ rang in her ears. The professor liked children, or attentive ones at least, and got a clear kick out of surprising people. She liked talking about the past to people who wanted to hear it, and she was clearly very close with the Headmaster. She must have been a Gryffindor in her time there, if she was Head of it now, and she had the ambition for Slytherin, what with holding three positions in the school simultaneously. She was also likely quite overworked.

“And I studied the Animagus transformation when I was in school,” she added. “I read about it first in my third year and began practicing it in my fifth.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Lavinia asked, frowning. “It wasn’t in Hufjan’s time, I remember that much, but Rhewan’s Modern Treatise on Transfiguration Regulations mentioned that it was illegal until the person had completed schooling, as too many people ended up permanently disfigured from trying too young. And that was written in the twenties…” Just how old was the woman?

“No, Miss Evans, I was not in school in the eighteen-hundreds,” the woman answered her unspoken question with a smile.

“Permanently disfigured?” Daphne repeated, aghast. “What happened to them?”

Lavinia froze momentarily, wracking her brain for the one short passage in that entire book. “I believe they ended up in a partially animalistic state,” she told her friend, frowning in thought. “Like a person with one paw instead of a hand, or a back covered in scales, or a wing instead of an arm. That sort of thing.”

The other girl giggled. “Wouldn’t that be a sorry sight.”

“Admittedly, yes,” she conceded, imagining Daphne with wings and stifling a laugh, “but imagine if you suddenly grew a beak, or your heart was that of a hummingbird. It could completely destroy your internal functions. What if your lungs weren’t equipped for the way you took in air? What if you couldn’t pump enough blood through your veins? What if your brain was no longer made to comprehend language and ran mainly on instinct?”

The look of alarm had returned to her friend’s face, but there was no hidden smile or dramatics now. “The way you think is often quite concerning, Lavinia,” she informed her. “That would be awful. I see why they banned it.”

“Fifteen more points to Slytherin for one of the best explanations I’ve heard in years, Miss Evans,” the professor added, blinking in surprise. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had a student come to my class so prepared.”

“I grew up in the muggle world, ma’am,” Lavinia explained. “So the books I read are far more fascinating than they may be for someone for whom these things are taken for granted. Even the dry ones read like novels.”

“Even so. And you are correct, it was illegal, and likely quite unwise,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling. “So perhaps this one can stay between us.”

The girls grinned. “We can do that, Professor,” they promised.

“Now, there’s only five minutes until class, so I’ll be returning to my other form,” she told them. “I like to do it the first day to catch the ones who think they can come late, and to startle everyone enough that they can’t talk. Please don’t spoil it, Miss Evans, Miss Greengrass.”

They only looked at each other and laughed as the professor returned to her feline form, ran to the front of the room to hop onto her podium, and began licking her paw. How was one to react to their teacher licking her paw?

Lavinia took the seat Daphne had saved her, pulling out her notebook and fountain pen, as she wasn’t particularly fast or neat with a quill as of yet. Daphne followed suit, though she was obviously quite practiced with a quill, and they agreed to share a textbook between them on their shared desk to save space. If Lavinia remembered correctly, they would be attempting to turn matches into needles the first day, to assess their control and power for transfiguration, before backtracking to basic theory and the like.

When class started, Lavinia saw why McGonagall liked to play such a prank on her class the first day. Everyone’s reactions were _priceless_ , even the ones who probably already knew about Animagus transformations. James, she knew, was an Animagus himself, so Oliver didn’t seem particularly surprised by the transformation itself, but he and the boy who had tripped her had run in together five minutes late, and she cut off their relieved exclamations about her absence by transforming back into her human form and taking points from each of them. 

_That_ was priceless.

Turning matchsticks into needles was relatively easy, and she turned it on the first try, since she had already practiced it earlier that summer with Astok. She earned a few more points for Slytherin for finishing it first, which earned her no homework for that night, though she promised herself to do it anyway, a challenge from the professor to make the most extravagant needle she could, and a very harsh glare from a Gryffindor girl, with the fluffy kind of curls that Lucy was always jealous of, who got hers done second.

She took more notes on Professor McGonagall’s lecture than she had during the entirety of History of Magic, and got an outline done for the essay she would be writing that night. The class had groaned at an assignment of “two feet of parchment on the meaning of transfiguration and its application on the spell learned that day”, and Lavinia almost did, too, until she remembered that two feet handwritten was like… two pieces of wide-ruled notebook paper front and back. It suddenly seemed much more manageable.

Oliver had managed his transfiguration a minute or so after Daphne, who had already practiced the spell a few times, putting them at about seventh and eighth for the class of about forty. 

She turned her matches to needles and back again what felt like a thousand times, until she finally got what she wanted. It was a pair of knitting needles, which was what made it so hard to complete, as it was many times larger than the matchstick, with pretty engravings of flowers and swirls and her best attempt at an artistic rendition of olive branches with leaves and olives and everything. She had learned to knit from Yvonne, years ago, and desperately wanted to find out if she still remembered, but she didn’t own any knitting needles, nor had it even occurred to her when she was packing. The flowers and swirls were just for aesthetic purposes, but the olives were for Minerva, a call to magic to please let her remember how to knit before the cold weather came to nip at her neck.

After Transfiguration was lunch, so she stayed back for a few minutes, Daphne opting to join her as neither of them were particularly hungry.

“Professor?” she began hesitantly, as the woman had taken to busying herself at her desk, moving papers around and crossing out notes on what she assumed was a to-do list.

“Yes, Miss Evans?” she asked, looking up from her desk, startled by the voice in what she probably had thought was an empty room.

“I wanted to show you what I did for the needle, and to ask your permission to keep it,” she explained, holding out the knitting needles to the older woman, waiting nervously for her reaction.

“My word,” she breathed, adjusting her glasses and taking the needles from Lavinia, turning them about and inspecting them. “You made these out of a matchstick?”

“Two matchsticks, to be fair,” she corrected with a smile. “Daphne let me use hers as well once she had practiced on it for a bit.”

“The craftsmanship is amazing,” Professor McGonagall remarked. “Can you explain the thinking behind the designs?”

“They were pretty?” she answered, her inflection rising at the end with her uncertainty. “There’s no thinking behind the majority of them, Professor. I like flowers, and I mainly let my magic do what it wished with the design. It looks sort of the way it feels to cast the spell, I think, if that makes any sense.”

“It wouldn’t to most, Miss Evans, but it does to me, don’t you worry. You have remarkable magical sensitivity for one so young.”

Lavinia wasn’t certain if that was a compliment or just an observation, but her chest swelled with pride regardless. “The olives were the only part that I planned intentionally,” she continued, choosing to forgo a response to her comment. “Knitting is a craft of the bright-eyed Minerva, and olives her sacred symbol. I figured incorporating her sacred symbols may encourage her blessing when practicing her craft, and I wasn’t sure how to engrave an entire aegis on a knitting needle.”

That actually made the sharp woman laugh. “No, I should say not, Miss Evans. I’m extremely impressed by your work, take five points for Slytherin. You are welcome to have these back, but I would like to show them to the Headmaster, if you’re willing. I’d return them to you by your next block of my class, Thursday, if I remember correctly.”

Lavinia almost wanted to say no, to just take them then, but she held back. It wasn’t as though she was likely to actually begin knitting before Thursday. It was only early September, and it wasn’t even cold enough for a scarf.

“That’s quite alright, Professor,” was all she said. “I don’t need them anytime soon, I’d just like to pick knitting back up this autumn and I want to see if the symbolism and magic already in the needles has any effect.”

The professor looked at her for a moment. “Thank you, Miss Evans. Please do let me know how your hypotheses turn out when you try, and perhaps consider taking Ancient Runes when you reach your third year. I believe you could be quite skilled if you put in the effort.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she agreed with a nod, filing away the suggestion. “We should be going to lunch, thank you for your time.”

“I’ll see you two on Thursday. And Miss Greengrass,” she added, peering at them over her spectacles, “you may not have been among the first to finish, but your needle was one of the best made in the class. You should be quite impressed with yourself.”

Daphne was smiling all the way to the Great Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention!!!!! I made a tumblr to go along with my fics, on which I will be answering any questions you can possibly come up with about the plot, characters, background, etc. to help with worldbuilding, I will do occasional polls on different plot points I'm considering, and I will post snippets and teasers for upcoming chapters, along with deleted scenes when I have them. 
> 
> The url is venus-ink. Pretty please give it a follow and send in some questions, no matter how ridiculous or serious they are. You want to know what wand I headcanon a character with? I'll tell you. You want to know what a character was thinking during a certain scene? I can tell you. You want to know what would have happened if a certain character had made a different choice? I can answer that! This helps me a lot to figure out my story, and I think it should be pretty fun, too :))
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed, and lemme know your thoughts! (and give the new blog a follow!)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontation is everywhere, really, if you know to look. Some just turn out better than others.
> 
> Oh and we meet somebody- can you guess who?

“Albus?” came a call from outside the door of his office. “It’s me.”

“Come right in, Minerva,” he shouted back, too familiar with the woman to feel a need to move from where he stood petting Fawkes. It wasn’t every man who had the chance to pet a phoenix in his life, and he swore the reaction of one’s magic when in contact with such a powerfully Light creature would never get old, no matter old he was himself.

Minerva let herself in, and he could recognize her footsteps as she approached his desk. 

“There’s something I absolutely must show you, Albus,” she told him, sounding far more excited than he heard her sound on any sort of regular basis. At his gesture to continue, she brandished before him two silver knitting needles with patterns etched into the metal. How lovely.

“Are these for me?” he asked, his eyes twinkling at the sight. “I really do need some new good wool socks, though I hadn’t thought to do it myself-”

“They’re not a gift, Albus,” she interrupted. “And they’re not mine. They were made by a first year student of mine this morning. I always challenge the first one done to impress me, and,  _ Merlin _ , look at these. I’m certainly impressed.”

A real pity that they weren’t for him. He sighed. Perhaps he could get his own, or ask the student to make him a pair, he thought. “Was it our young Mister Potter?” he asked curiously. James had always been wonderful at transfiguration as a boy- it was a pity he had gone into the auror academy rather than getting his mastery. Albus would not have been surprised at the news that he had passed the talent on to his son.

“No,” Minerva denied, sounding a bit confused by the question. “Though he did do quite well on his transfiguration as well. These were made by his sister.”

A weaker man would have simply hit his head against his own desk, right in front of his employee. But a hundred and thirty- five years of life gave one rather magnificent self control, so he resisted such an urge. 

“It’s good to hear she’s adapting well,” he said instead.

“Oh yes, she certainly is,” Minerva agreed, and he could tell she would begin jabbering on soon enough. “She said she had read ahead for every class before arriving, just in case the rest of he class was ahead, and she had already read Hufjan and Rhewan, all before her first class, and understood it all well enough to explain to Miss Greengrass.”

“That’s wonderful, Minerva,” he told her, adjusting his half-moon spectacles and handing the needles back to her. “And these are wonderful work. Quite impressive, for a first year especially. I do hope you take the poor girl under your wing, Minerva,” he added, sighing internally in relief as he thought of it. “Stuck in Slytherin, of all things.”

“I certainly plan to,” she agreed. “Though she doesn’t seem unhappy, Albus.”

Turning his gaze to Fawkes, he sighed, a bit dramatically, perhaps, but who could blame him. “Perhaps not, and perhaps she wouldn’t wish for you to see it. But she’s in a new world, away from her dear brother and the friend I’m sure he would love to share with her, and surrounded by people who may not wish the best for her.” He turned back to his colleague beseechingly. “You understand why I worry for her, Minerva. She was raised in the muggle world, at Lily and James’ insistance, and she doesn’t know what she’s getting into in Slytherin.”

Minerva frowned. “I do understand,” she said finally. “I’m sure it’s a very stressful situation and would be regardless of her house, though her lack of proximity to her brother must be hard as well. I’ll keep my eye on her,” she promised. “And I certainly plan to see what she can do if this is the result of her first lesson. We’ll see about your theories.”

That would have to be good enough. 

She excused herself not long afterwards, thank Merlin, as it was getting quite late, and he finally had time to think.

He wasn’t even sure why it mattered so much to him that the girl was in Slytherin. Students went there every year, though not many, for obvious reasons, like dark magic, and bad reputations, and wars that no one was ready to forget, and he didn’t care overly much about that. He supposed it was because the Slytherin students were usually the expected ones, the children of Dark families and the like. Hopeless causes, he had to admit to himself, as awful as it sounded, even in his head. Every once in a while, he would think there to be a lovely exception like that boy Sirius Black, but once Dark, always Dark, he supposed, was a rather good rule to live by. Andromeda had been the better one between the two of them anyways.

He just didn’t like the number of strange circumstances regarding the girl, he assured himself. Nothing more than that. There was nothing paranoid or prejudiced about a clear pattern of events. Between the events with her brother as a baby, her unconventional upbringing, her strange manners if James’ letters were anything to go by, and now her unusual level of skill and preparation- all of that  _ despite _ her upbringing- it was no fault of his to want to keep a closer watch on her. Nothing more than that. He took a lemon drop from his bowl. Nothing but a wise precaution.

_______

Meanwhile, some hours away in an undisclosed location somewhere in England, Narcissa Malfoy was sipping a glass of hot tea with whiskey by the window, reading the paper somewhat distractedly with only the light of the moon and a bit of stray light from the candle beside the bed, when an owl swooped directly though the open window to land on her arm.

“Hera,” she said, somewhat startled by the sight. “Do you have a letter for me, beautiful?” She raised her brows, seeing the rather large pouch of letters attached to the bird’s leg. “Multiple?” She could have sworn the bird shook its head at that. “Only one is for me? Let’s see it then.”

She pulled out the stack of letters, rifling through the unfamiliar names until she found one addressed to her,  _ Lady Narcissa Malfoy, Malfoy Manor _ printed across the front in the neatest swirling cursive she had seen. Summoning a handful of treats for Hera to eat while she read the letter, she replaced the other letters and sat back to break the seal, a gorgeous one of pale pink shimmering wax with a sprig of pressed flowers stamped into it.

“Lucius, darling, guess who’s written,” she called to her husband where he lay in their bed, reading. 

“Draco?” he asked, sounding a bit hopeful.

“We got Draco’s letters last night, dear,” she reminded him. I haven’t sent off a reply to him yet, though. I’ve been waiting for you to write one so we can send them both at once. I’m sure he would prefer not to be barraged with letters every week. No, that lovely girl Lavinia wrote us.”

“Oh.” He sounded so disappointed that she wanted to roll her eyes at him, but he probably wouldn’t even be able to see it. He waited a moment before sighing and setting down his book. “What does she have to say, dear?” he indulged her. 

She smiled, feeling quite smug. “Give me one moment, and I’ll tell you.”

She read through the girl’s letter, and she was reminded of why she liked her so much.

_ Aunt Narcissa, _ it began, and her heart was already soaring,  _ I do hope that’s alright to call you, and I hope you and Lord Malfoy are doing well. Hogwarts is already quite eventful, so I figured I would take you up on your offer to write… _

“She’s a Slytherin,” she announced, once she got to Lavinia’s recount of the sorting ceremony. “The scroll had her name down twice as well, poor dear. I’m sure that must have been quite embarrassing.”

Lucius threw something at her which landed directly in her lap, a coin, she thought. “A Slytherin Potter,” he mused. “So unexpected I can’t even be upset with myself for guessing otherwise.”

“But not unexpected enough to throw  _ me _ off,” she sniffed, placing the galleon on the table beside her teacup. 

“Nothing can throw you off, dear,” he replied. “I often wonder why I ever attempt to bet against you.”

“As do I, darling, as do I,” she said fondly, returning to the letter. “She says she likes Slytherin quite a lot, and that she and Draco are spending lots of time together. What do you make of that, love?”

He blinked. “That they’re… friends?” he tried. “Good friends? Why don’t you just tell me, dear? This will all go much faster if you don’t leave me to guess.”

Narcissa really did roll her eyes at that, drinking down the rest of her tea and climbing into bed beside her husband, taking care not to crumple the letter. “It means we can start thinking of things like betrothals, darling,” she corrected him. She loved the man to death, she did, but he was a bit thick at times when it came to matters such as that one. It was part of his charm, she supposed. “You must have noticed Draco’s interest in her; it was adorably obvious, though I think Lavinia is entirely oblivious, the dear.”

“Erm…”

“You wouldn’t have noticed,” Narcissa sighed. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“What is it with you pureblood women and your matchmaking? I’ll never understand the fun in all of that.”

“Of course you won’t darling,” she simpered, “though you men may not be in much of a position to complain about pureblood women when you’re all still out here insisting on marrying us. You want us to act a certain way and then get upset when we add a few things ourselves. There are infinite things in this world that you won’t understand, darling, it just seems that women are one of them.”

“I don’t need to understand women. I already have a wife,” he grouched, dropping the attitude at her glare. “The smartest, loveliest, most wonderful wife in this entire world,” he hurried to add. Now, what else did our apparent future daughter-in-law have to say?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders with a yawn.

“That Hogwarts is beautiful, that her brother is quite awful to be around- which isn’t much of a surprise, though it’s awful for her. Oh, and she asked us about lawyers,” she finished.

Lucius frowned. “What does she need a lawyer for? Bloody child is thirteen.”

“One moment…. She’s worried she won’t be able to live with Petunia anymore,” she told him, quite dismayed by the turn the letter had taken. “She says that the Potters essentially kidnapped her, just with prettier words, at the end of July, and that’s why she hasn’t written since. She’s worried that they won’t let her go back home.”

“She actually  _ wants _ to live with that muggle?” Lucius repeated incredulously. 

“That’s her aunt, Lucius,” she scolded, hitting his chest lightly with her free hand. “You can’t really be surprised that she wants to go home to the woman who raised her.”

“I can when it’s a muggle,” he muttered.

She turned on the puppy dog eyes, twisting around to face him. “You think she’s better off away from the muggle world?”

“She’s a witch, of course she is,” he replied tiredly, letting his other arm fall to rest on her waist.

_ Hook, line, and sinker _ , she thought to herself. “Then I suppose it’s alright if she stays here over holidays, right? And Petunia, too? I’d hate for our future daughter-in-law to think we’re abandoning her to the mercy of the  _ Potters _ .”

He groaned, pulling his wife against his chest. “You, dear, are very, very lucky that I love you so much.”

She smiled against his heartbeat, smug and fond at the same time, and pushed his hair away from her face. “As if I would ever give you another choice.”

“Perish the thought,” he murmured, reaching over to put out the candle. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, Lucius.”

______

Lavinia had almost been convinced that Defense Against the Dark Arts had let her down. Their first unit was supposed to be on basic defense techniques, likely quite similar to muggle self defense strategies, as they wouldn’t be starting right off with magic, but the teacher, Quirrell, could barely make it though a sentence without stuttering so many times it was hard to understand, and in such a way that was so highly unbelievable, like a child told to mimic a stutter when they had never met anyone with such an issue in their lives.

The first lessons were filled with rambling lectures and a lot of anecdotes about his time in Albania with the vampires that should have been fascinating except that he had very little to say on the whole topic and stuttered through the entire thing. Lavinia didn’t even mind stutters, but his sounded like a cartoon rendition, and kept him from being at all suitable to teach that class, and that made her quite rightfully upset. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts sounded like the most important class on the curriculum and should have at least been interesting, even if it wasn’t laid out to give them much practical knowledge. They could have been studying theory, he could have spelled a piece of chalk to transcribe for him so that he wouldn’t have to speak, they could have been doing anything, but instead they listened to Quirrell’s rambles for an entire week before anything more interesting came of it.

Even his classroom was miserable to be in. The room itself could’ve been quite lovely, she supposed, with the dark wood walls and high windows and everything. But instead he left it almost painfully dark inside, and it smelled like someone had rubbed raw garlic on every available surface. Which, admittedly, someone had.

“Tell me,” he said suddenly, two weeks later, when there were only a few minutes left in class. Lavinia had finished the essay assigned for that night while Quirrell was attempting to make it through another story about his past, and she, Daphne, Tracey, and Draco were passing around a notebook so they could continue the discussion they had been having before class. A few of the Gryffindors were sleeping or turned around entirely to talk, other than the one girl who Oliver hung around who was scribbling in her notebook and listening intently to whatever Quirrell was trying to say. Lavinia took notes in Defense, but she also felt that she was a good enough judge of when she was wasting her own time.

Tom- er, Quirrell, he supposed- couldn’t help but agree.

He had been letting the idiot do as he pleased for his classes, while Tom tuned out his words and went on with his thoughts, but he was beginning to regret it. Not only was he getting sick of listening to the man stutter on about vampires that Tom knew full well he had never actually encountered, but it was the principle of the thing, dammit. It was bloody Defense Against the Dark Arts; it shouldn’t have been a class anyone wanted to sleep through.

And yet there were the children, the children of his followers, some of them, and those of his opponents, sleeping and doodling and whispering, and Sweet Circe, he couldn’t even blame them. Perhaps the class would go better if he asserted a bit of… influence, on poor Quirinus.

“Tell me,” he had Quirrell repeat, “what is the first thing to remember in a duel? Mister Weasley?”

“Er, your wand?” he tried, looking at Quirrell with the most befuddled expression Tom could remember seeing on a person in the past few  _ years. _ And he tended to surround himself with quite a great number of idiots.

“A given, Mister Weasley,” he sneered, though Quirrell was much less threatening and far more understanding sounding than he would have been. “Mister Potter?” Perhaps the boy savior would know. 

“Your surroundings?”

“Important, but the not the first. Miss Evans?”

She frowned, thinking back to her lessons. “Your opponent,” she answered after a second, mostly confident in her answer but crossing her fingers under her desk regardless.

“That is correct, Miss Evans. Take two points. Your opponent is the most important thing in a duel. Knowing who you are fighting is the only way to know  _ how _ to fight them, and whether or not you should attempt it at all. Miss Evans, if you were duelling me, what would you keep in mind?”

She blinked uncertainly, casting around for things about him.  _ Come on Lavinia _ , she chided herself. Astok had made her do similar exercises all the time- why was she struggling now? “You have a stutter, sir, so I would assume the majority of your spells would be nonverbal, though if they were not then your reaction time would be longer, giving more openings for a return.” She settled her elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her left hand so her right would be free to take notes if necessary. “You have a limp, which tends to leave you open on your right side- unfortunate, for you that is, given that you’re left handed and already favor your left side. The limp would keep you from moving particularly fast if the direction changes frequently and drastically, so I would take a rabbit’s approach to such a duel.”

“Impressive,” he said, watching her curiously. “Interesting. Now, Miss Greengrass, following Miss Potter’s theory, how does one best prepare for a nonverbal assault?”

“A physical shield as well as a magical one?” Daphne guessed. “The only way to know the spell about to be cast is by recognizing the color or wand movement last second, so it would be wise to have a backup plan.”

“A perfectly acceptable answer,” he nodded approvingly. “Mister Malfoy, how can one best compensate for a limp or other issue that leads to favoring one side?”

“A shield on that side. Or a sword if one wishes to be old-fashioned,” he added. “Keep that side away from your opponent and turned in upon itself to offer the least opening possible.”

“Thank you. Now, you get to the duel, you know your opponent, and your opponent compensates for his or her weaknesses, effectively eliminating those weaknesses from the playing board. What is your first goal? Miss Dunbar?”

“To find another weakness?”

“Always a good goal, but unlikely to be very easy on the spot if everything you noticed the first go round is compensated for. For the sake of this question, assume there are no additional hidden weaknesses. Miss Hearst?"

“To create a new weakness.”

“Very close, take a point. Miss Evans, any guesses?”

“To remove the method of compensation,” she answered automatically. “If your opponent has a splint for an injury, you don’t need to injure them further, you just need to remove their splint somehow. If your opponent has a shield for their weaker side, make them lose hold of it, force them into a position where their weaker side is exposed.”

“Precisely. What is the most important thing you yourself can know when duelling, regardless of situation? Miss Parkinson?”

“An effective and diverse spell repertoire,” she guessed.

“Good, but no. Miss Patil?”

“How to cast quickly.”

“Good, but still no. Mister Thomas?”

“How to shield?”

“No. Miss Evans?”

“How to best use the element of surprise,” she replied drily, hoping desperately that they would not spend their entire class being pop-quizzed on material Astok taught her at eight.

“Elaborate,” he demanded, taking care not to take over Quirrell’s mind or body as of yet, just sending strong compulsions as to what he should be saying. It was strange that the girl who was said to be raised by muggles was the most prepared in the class, and, if the other reports at the weekend’s staff meeting were anything to go by, it was the same for every class she took. She knew the material back to front, understood it well enough to explain it, and didn’t quite comprehend how impressive the extent of her knowledge was. Minerva claimed she had referenced Hufjan in casual conversation, and it hadn’t even seemed to occur to the girl that such things weren’t normal.

Her brother was bright, quite bright. He was good at defensive spells, showed signs of training and effort, stayed firmly in the bottom bit of the top quarter of the class. Nothing world-changing, but nothing to scoff at. But he simply didn’t seem to care, whereas his twin seemed to have a calculating look constantly on the corners of her eyes, assessing the world around her and working harder than he himself even had if the rumors about her were true. 

Aurora had mentioned that she was up at five every morning dancing in the Slytherin ballroom, complicated sets of ballet exercises that had clearly taken years of daily effort. Aurora had followed her one morning when she noticed the girl leaving the main common room at only four-thirty, and found her dancing for forty-five minutes exactly before a quite alarm went off and she would practice moves that Tom had recognized from Aurora’s description as muggle self defense techniques. She went back to her rooms after that, but supposedly, when the rest of the House was first getting up each morning, she would already be dressed and ready, playing piano in the corner of the common room with her bag resting at her feet. No one had complained about the music so far, so her pattern continued. 

He wished once again that he had possessed a Slytherin, as he really wished nothing more than to go back to the real home of his childhood.

But according to Aurora, who supposedly had been ordered by the esteemed Headmaster himself to take note of the girl’s movements for a day, she spent every spare minute practicing something or other, or reading from a book half as thick as her head. Even he had known how to sleep in as a child. Honestly.

She intrigued him, regardless, the muggle-raised Slytherin, a pariah among her house mates and either an object of hatred or a specimen under glass among the rest, treated like a mudblood despite her noble ancestry. Applying herself to her greatest ability, surrounding herself with people who would stand up for her like a shield. If she stopped  _ smiling _ all the time, he would see nothing but himself in her. He wanted to test her, he realized. He wanted to know how deep the similarities went.

Meanwhile, for a man whose classes had been wishy-washy thus far and done nothing but politely shoot questions at people around the room for the past ten minutes, Lavinia thought he had quite the intimidating tone when giving orders. He had the certainty of someone who was accustomed to being obeyed, but had earned it, Lavinia thought. She wondered just what the hell he had been doing before he went to Albania.

“How to use spells or methods your opponent isn’t expecting, how to use your surroundings as a weapon in themselves,” she answered. “Your opponent knows you want to summon their wand, and may ward it accordingly, but there’s not much they can do if you summon their hand first. Your opponent is shielding against spells, but is your opponent shielding against you dropping a chandelier on their head? Likely not. Use spells for something other than their intended purpose, and don’t rely entirely on magic. The most important thing in a duel is creativity.”

She was really almost  _ quoting _ Astok now, though her examples, ones that seemed to startle the rest of the class, were her own. The goblin would get quite a kick out of it, she was sure.

“Indeed. Those of you who spent this time talking will regret not copying down what Miss Evans has said. For tonight’s assignment, I’d like each of you to write down seven spells and how you would use them in a duel to your best advantage, likely in a way your opponent would not expect, along with seven everyday objects. If this takes more than three feet of parchment, you’re doing it wrong. Class dismissed.”

“I promised Tracey I’d go right to dinner with her after class,” Daphne told her apologetically. “I know you planned to drop some things in your rooms, so I’ll see you in a few.”

“I’m headed off, too,” Draco added. “Theodore and I are studying together so we’re taking some food to the sitting room.”

Lavinia nodded, shooting her friends smiles and zipping her pen into a small pouch that she slipped into her bag, and cramming her books into it as well.

“Miss Evans,” Professor Quirrell spoke up before she could leave. “Stay a moment, if you will.”

It was his only real chance to talk to the girl and see what he could learn about her, Tom reminded himself, sighing internally that he had gone from a feared Dark Lord to an awkward professor that students weren’t even vaguely intimidated by. Quirrell wasn’t even attractive, he lamented vainly, so the man’s awkwardness wasn’t even endearing to those around him. He pushed Quirrell to the back of his own mind and took over, relishing the temporary control of limbs and breath.

“Yes, sir,” she said automatically, wondering what she could have done. She highly doubted that she was in trouble, as most teachers had nothing against getting Slytherins in trouble very loudly in front of their peers. But she had no idea what else would have her staying back. Her answers had been textbook ones, not even anything particularly impressive.

“You know quite a lot about duelling,” he remarked, clearly waiting for an answer.

She considered simply not giving him one until he asked a real question, but she figured that was hunger speaking rather than her. “Yes, sir,” she repeated. “I read quite a bit to prepare for my classes, and I’ve had self defense instruction since I was young. There’s a good bit more overlap than even I expected.”

“Indeed. What would you do, were you to duel me?” he asked curiously, and Lavinia couldn’t help but think that something quite great rested heavily upon her answer.

“Summon your right hip,” she drawled, watching him as intently as he was watching her. “Summoning body parts directly out of the body is quite painful… I’ve heard,” she tacked on the end, curious as to whether he would buy it.

She’d heard it alright, directly out of her own mouth when Astok had used a weak spell to summon her ribcage.  _ That _ was a mistake you only made once.

“Would you?” he asked, sounding quite amused and somewhat pleased by her answer.

“I would try my best,” she agreed, trying to cover the defensiveness forcing its way out through her lips.

“How would you like to try, Miss Potter?” he asked after a moment, his voice changing tone ever so slightly.

She quirked a brow. “I’m sure I would stand no chance to your esteemed skill, Professor,” she replied blandly, the dry sarcasm of such a response sending him into a rumbling laugh.

“Indulge me, Miss Potter,” he insisted. “It will be a learning experience for each of us.”

Why was he so set on duelling her? She had to wonder, given the way that he had flipped from useless stuttering mess to a quick wit. 

On that note, he hadn’t stuttered since class started, had he?

“Alright, Professor,” she agreed finally. “Name a time and place, I suppose.”

“Wednesday night,” he offered immediately. “Meet me in the trophy room- it’s one of the best protected against stray spells, Merlin forbid anything happen to the trophies.”

She shook her head. “Flying lessons start Wednesday afternoon, and I have Astronomy that night, sir.”

He shrugged, a jerky, awkward sort of motion that didn’t match the rest of his current demeanor at all. “Come after Astronomy, then. First years don’t have a first block on Thursdays, right?”

“I’d rather not be out after the rest of the castle is asleep, if you please, Professor,” she replied stiffly, twisting her hands in her skirt. She was sure he only meant to duel and give her additional lessons, and she really  _ was _ bored with the basic material, as fascinating as it was- it was just… she had done it. Years ago. And it had been hard then, certainly, as defensive magic had never been her strong suit, but she knew what she was doing by now, and hearing the same lectures and practicing the same shielding spell had gotten quite repetitive. But even if he meant well, that didn’t mean she actually had any interest in testing that.

Was there really no other time they could duel? She thought to her schedule, though, her personal one at least, and really no, there wasn’t. The other days’ free periods were taken up by flying lessons, as they only lasted a few weeks, and she really didn’t want to break her practice schedule or her study schedule, so that left… 

“Does Friday night work?” she asked suddenly, remembering that she had given herself that night free from studying, and there were no flying lessons.

“Indeed, Miss Evans. We can meet at ten, please do be prompt.”

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” she agreed, quite cheery at the prospect now that she didn't have to worry about being out until the wee hours of the morning. “Merry part, Professor, I should be getting to dinner before my friends worry.”

______

The next few days passed easily, but soon enough it was Wednesday afternoon, and the much awaited flying lessons were set to start.

Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall was still her favorite class, though DADA was running a close second what with how Quirrell had started teaching. Maybe he got nervous around people or something, and it just took him time to adjust to a crowd. But she’d had a double block of it that morning, and the lesson had been extremely hands on. Where he had before just lectured in his quivering sort of way that had only made her think of a mouse and let them practice the spells from their seats until they had gotten it, now he was setting them in pairs, having them practice their casting and their dodging in front of the class, and having them recite the principles of duelling and defense while they did so.

He had kept up the style of teaching to shoot questions at various students in rapid succession, letting their answers become part of the lesson and discussion, and letting them voice their theories or examples or questions whenever they wished, though Lavinia was really the only one who willingly volunteered summaries and examples of the material, as it was how she had always been taught to learn and always been taught to answer.

The spells themselves weren’t particularly hard, but defensive magic was always very unnatural for her to cast. It didn’t take more work or even substantially more practice, but it took more effort in each casting. She had to push her magic to the tip of her wand rather than just direct it, and too many defensive spells in quick succession would leave her a bit breathless, like the magic was squeezing into her lungs and waiting for her to try and breathe around it. The offensive magic, on the other hand, the hexes and curses and jinxes, those were the spells that made her wand hum in her hand with content and her magic warm her body like an embrace.

Those were the spells that created something, she had decided while mulling things over sitting at the edge of the lake with Daphne, Tracey, and Draco during lunch. It was probably the same reason she preferred transfiguration to charms. Charms would make one thing do another, but transfiguration rearranged the magic and the atoms of an object to create another. Fir woods were good for transfiguration, she remembered, and it made sense that her magic would follow a pattern in its preferences.

The first Astronomy class had been more of introduction to the concept of astronomy and what it meant for magical beings, which was somewhat interesting, but Professor Sinistra had assured them that none of the other classes would be so lecture heavy, so she wasn’t able to make any sort.

Herbology was really only fun because of the teacher. Professor Sprout was the head of Hufflepuff, and she doubted anyone had ever looked at the woman and guessed another house in her life. It was just magical gardening really, and while she had nothing against such a passtime, it didn’t hold a whole lot of appeal. What she did enjoy, however, was learning the properties of the different plants, the reactions they could case with each other in Potions or in nature. Potions, at least, was a lot of fun, even if she didn’t think it would be her best subject. After all, that was why she partnered with Draco; he looked like he had been brewing since he was in diapers, which, upon interrogation, she learned he practically was. She liked the formulas and recipes and studying the way the ingredients interacted, and it wasn’t all that different from cooking- something that made her think of Auntie.

She had exchanged a few letters with Auntie over the last two weeks, which was the greatest relief she could imagine. She kept all the letters she got in a little box under her bed, and her heart swelled every time she got to add another. She had written her friends again, too, little personalized letters for each of them with wildflowers she had pressed and little pouches of the tea that one could only get at Hogwarts. They found it strange that she had to write them, and their returning letters came a bit stilted, as they weren’t accustomed to writing anything in letter form at all, but the love came seeping out of every word and wrapped around Lavinia as though her friends themselves were there to hold her. She told them everything she could about the school without mentioning magic, which mostly meant substituting the magical class names for normal ones, like telling them about Finnegan’s potions accident in the form of a chemistry failure that had blown up in his face. It was refreshing to talk to people who didn’t have any expectations for her outside of what they had learned directly from her and knowing her.

But it wasn’t the post owls that would be flying that afternoon, it was Lavinia herself, along with all her friends and about eighty other people to embarrass herself in front of. The sun was shining as strong as it could in early autumn in Scotland, making it quite comfortable in nothing but her robes, and, quite stupidly, a very short skirt, which she had opted to wear that morning, forgetting entirely that they would be flying. She wore shorts under it, at least, so she wasn’t too worried, not to mention that she was far too distracted by her friends to worry about anything at all.

Everything was going wonderfully, and she really should have recognized that for the awful, awful omen that it was.

Madam Hooch was a perfectly stereotypical gym teacher, a nice one, that was- she even had the whistle. “Hold out your hands over your brooms and say up,” she directed them.

Surprisingly, Lavinia’s broom jumped into her hand before she even got the word out of her mouth, but hers was one of the only ones that did. Oliver’s had done the same as hers, but Draco’s took an extra try, Tracey’s a few a after that, and Daphne’s barely rolled over on the ground.

“You alright?” she checked quietly. 

“I’m alright,” Daphne assured her, her voice still light, though a sigh escaped. “I’m not much a fan of heights, though, and I think the broom knows that.”

“The broom’s job isn’t to go high right now,” Lavinia replied, hoping she could say something to help. “Right now, its only job is to jump into your hand. You’re in charge here, Daphne, just let it know it has to do its bloody job.”

Her words had the intended effect, drawing a laugh out of her nervous friend, and her cheeks pinked at Lavinia’s cursing. “Up,” she tried again, and the broom jumped about a foot off the ground before falling, making her brow furrow and her jaw set as she tried again. “Up,” she demanded, and the broom finally made it into her hand. “I did it!” she exclaimed. “I did it!”

Lavinia grinned. “Good job. Hey, what’s Hooch saying? I can’t hear her.”

“She’s bringing up the class in groups,” Draco explained. “Gryffs first, obviously,” he added, and if he rolled his eyes any higher, they’d make it to heaven before he could.

“Patience is a virtue, Draco.”

“Not a Sytherin one,” he snapped, then winced. “I apologize for that.”

“Already forgotten,” she assured him. “I can’t wait to fly either; it sounds like such fun.”

“It’s better than you could even imagine,” he agreed almost reverently. “You almost forget you’re separate from the broom once you’re good at it, just one with the wind and the birds and all that dramatic shit.”

“Language,” Daphne teased. “Merlin, Dray, there are ladies present.”

“Oh really? I don’t see any ladies here,” he shot back. 

“Would you like to repeat that to Lavinia?”

If she could freeze time, she would. The moments like then that she got to share seemed so pure, so untouched by everything wrong in the world, moments where the sun warmed her skin and her friends were bickering and all was well.

It was only a few minutes until Hooch got to their end of the line, as she was only showing them proper form and balance techniques in small groups, not teaching the entire lesson.

“Boys first,” she called, to the disappointment of the Slytherin girls. “Oh, you can wait five minutes,” she scolded. “I just need to be able to see half of you at a time without making you divide yourselves up. Now, I’ve already demonstrated mounting a broom, so at this time please try your best to mimic that.”

Draco sent her a crooked grin, swinging a leg over his broom and flying in a quick spin as soon as Hooch’s back was turned, making Lavinia stifle a laugh.

“Alright, your form looks good,” Hooch announced. “Rise up in the air now, try to keep your balance.”

“Lav,” Daphne whispered, tugging on the sleeve of her robe. “Look at your brother’s friend, that other redhead boy.”

Oliver and his friend were floating a few feet off the ground on his broom, just as a lot of the others were who had already gone, but the friend brandished his wand towards the Slytherins, a determined sort of smirk pasted over his features that she could see even from down the row.

“Why does he have his wand out, Daphne?” Lavinia asked anxiously. “Please tell me it’s just some wizard thing where you have to have your wand out to fly or something.  _ Please _ tell me he’s not pointing it at Draco right now.”

Daphne pursed her lips, her eyes wide in that resigned sort of horror one feels when the end result is inevitable, and any reactions are muted by that simple  _ knowing _ of what was going to happen and knowing it would be bad, and watching from behind glass as what you knew was to come finally took place. Lavinia joined her friend in her worry, biting her lips to keep from crying out a warning of some sort. It would likely only get her in trouble and somebody hurt when she distracted them.

Lavinia watched in a somewhat detached fashion as Draco called down to her from thirty-something feet up or so, cut off halfway through when a beam of purple light hit him square in the back.

And then he was falling.

And falling.

And falling and falling and trying to grab onto the handle of his broom and his hands brushing against it only an inch too far away and something reflecting in the sun flying from his finger as it scraped the handle and falling and  _ please don’t fall please be okay- _

And the next moment, he had landed only a few feet in front of her, his limbs splayed around him as he crumpled to the ground.

She ran forward, trying to get to his side and make sure he was alright, but Madam Hooch was in the way, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her away gently, telling her something she didn’t quite remember only a few moments after she was done speaking about the hospital wing and fragile conditions.

Hooch helped him up and walked him to the castle, his arm over her shoulders holding the majority of his weight.

Lavinia stared a bit shell-shocked at the place her best friend had just laid, before she noticed Daphne’s voice in her ear calling her back and wrapping an arm around her waist. “He’s going to be just fine,” she assured her. “Madam Pomfrey can fix him up in seconds, alright? That’s the blessing of magic.”

“Yeah, yeah” she heard herself agree. “I’ll be alright in a minute.” She glanced over to Oliver, expecting- hoping?- to see horror on his face to match hers, anger at his friend, or guilt over his involvement, or anything, but all she saw was his animated grin as he was telling something to the boys around him, probably some alpha male posturing type of story about outflying the wind itself or defeating a monster by flying circles around it.

“He doesn’t care,” she whispered, feeling some bit of hope inside her, a tiny fissure in a cave of disappointment, crack just a little more as she watched. 

“I don’t think he knows what to do right now,” Daphne corrected softly, physically turning her friend away from her brother, “and he’s doing what he knows how to do. Stupid, certainly, but that doesn’t have to mean unfeeling.”

They stood like that for a long time, joined by Theodore a few minutes later after he made his excuses to the Ravenclaw boys he was standing with. “Did you see who hit him?” he asked by way of a greeting.

“That red haired boy with Oliver,” Lavinia told him. 

“Weasley,” Theodore supplied. “Don’t worry. We Slytherins know how to get back at someone for getting our own, right? We just need a good revenge plan by the time Draco returns.”

And that was a good distraction, for a while at least. But one horrible event would never be enough in Lavinia’s life, would it.

“Look what I found,” Oliver shouted from somewhere on the other side of her than before. She hadn’t even noticed him moving. “I think it’s his jewelry or something.”

His friend-  _ Weasley- _ laughed at that, the idiot. The  _ nerve _ of that boy.

“I do wonder,” Oliver continued, and Lavinia knew that even if display wasn’t for her individually, it was for the Slytherins, for his friends, “what he would do if maybe it was in a tree?” The mob beneath him jeered, and she was reminded rather morbidly of an executioner before a crowd.

That was  _ enough _ . She whipped around to him, broom still in one hand. “Give it here, Potter,” she demanded. “Your game is over now, give it up.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will actually,” he replied, and he had the bloody nerve to laugh- giggle even, if she wanted to be generous. “Maybe I should put it on the roof?” Louder cheers.

“It’s his family ring,  _ brother _ ,” she told him through gritted teeth. “Give it back yourself or give it to me, and I’ll do it for you.”

“Maybe I should throw it in the lake?” he mused next, his eyes glittering with mirth. 

Lavinia was seeing red, throwing a leg over her broom and flying up to the air beside him shakily. She could hear Daphne calling to her from below, but she couldn’t even really make out her words in the state she was in.

“You don’t want to do this,” she warned.

Oliver shot her a charming grin. “Oh, but I do.  _ Catch _ .”

“Wh-”

But before she could even finish the word he was throwing the ring, and it was souring through the air as though it had a mind of its own, hurtling towards the Lake with more force than she realized a thirteen year old could manage.

Oh, well. There was really only one option at that point. Say, was riding a broom like riding a horse?

And she was souring, one with the wind just like Draco had said, barely feeling where her limbs ended and the broom began as she pushed the broom to go faster and faster, leaning into the feeling and  _ oh _ , she could  _ see _ the ring, getting closer and closer, just as the lake was.

_ Faster, _ she thought urgently, and the broom obeyed. She had let go at that point, hanging onto the broom with only her legs as she reached out closer, closer-

Her fingers brushed water-

And as they came back up she felt a weight in her hand that some part of the back of her mind registered as the ring, and she whooped in victory, holding the ring in a tight fist and letting her broom pull her into a few loops as she flew back to the field where friends were waiting.

Where her friends were waiting along with Madam Hooch, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Sinistra.

Things really just kept coming, didn’t they.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This almost 8k word chapter is dedicated to a certain lovely reader who's celebrating their birthday today!! happy birthday, and I hope the cake was delicious!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you thought, and please go check out my tumblr, venus-ink, that goes with my ao3 where I'll answer any random questions, theories, thoughts, etc and post bits of the chapter before it gets on here!!!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavinia experiences some unexpected consequences and makes some unexpected acquaintances.
> 
> This chapter also goes to the lovely reader who sent me fanart- please know I love you.

Lavinia froze when she saw the Professors on the quidditch pitch, every bit of her screaming to just turn the broom around and fly away. But Draco was with them.

She hoped he would understand, hoped he wouldn’t think her crazy for flying after his ring like there was no tomorrow, or for provoking Oliver, or for revealing how close of friends they were, or for not stopping him from getting cursed before he got hurt, or everything else she just wanted him to know, just wanted him to  _ get _ , without her having to say it.

Taking a shaky breath, she touched down beside them, almost falling off the broom in the process. She had never understood the concept of sea legs until that moment- just standing still had her knees about to buckle.

“I got your ring,” she mumbled, holding it out to her friend, the Malfoy family crest shining in the sun. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Please come with us, Miss Evans,” Professor McGonagall cut in before Draco could respond. “We appear to have quite a bit to talk about.”

Oh, the melodrama was  _ not _ helping, she groaned. Why did wizards have to make everything sound so suspenseful? Was having the last word part of the wizard code or something?

Lavinia sent a last look at her friends, who were all staring at her in awe, and followed the women into the castle, Professor Sinista taking the lead. They made it to the third floor, weaving through corridors she hadn’t ever realized were there, and she had to wonder whose office was anywhere nearby. Maybe that was where Madam Hooch’s office was.

“Where  _ are _ we going, Aurora?” McGonagall spoke up, voicing her own concerns. Well, so much for that theory.

“To get Flint, of course.”

Lavinia felt her pulse quicken. Flint? What the hell was she planning to do, start a fire? Read the smoke? Burn the witch?

“Bathsheda?” Professor Sinistra asked, poking her head into a classroom on their right. “Do you mind if I borrow Flint for a moment?”

Lavinia was practically holding her breath at that point. She was fine, she reminded herself over and over. She was probably going to be assigned detention or something, nothing nearly as awful as her mind wanted to suggest. But, Circe, she had never really been in trouble before. It was the curse of boarding school, she sighed to herself. She could break the rules at any time of the day. At home, she would spend her hours in classes, listening attentively and everything she was supposed to, and then she and her friends could leave, and do whatever they wished. No one  _ cared _ if they were going against a school rule when they weren’t at school.

But all that came out of the classroom was a boy, a tall, darker skinned boy she thought she might have seen around the halls at some point. He struck her as the burly type of guy she was used to seeing on a school rugby team, with arms the size of her waist and the gruff look on his face of someone who wasn’t unkind but wasn’t particularly pleasant either.

“Merry meet, Professors,” he greeted warily, a somewhat perplexed frown on his face that, on second thought, may have just been his face. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Merry meet, Marcus,” Professor Sinistra replied warmly, and Lavinia could already see him relaxing. “I believe I’ve found you a seeker.”

“Her? The firstie?”

“If you come by the office later, I’ll show you the memory of her flying earlier,” the professor offered. “But she’s better than the current one, no offense to Mister Higgs, and I believe,” she added, glancing at Lavinia, “that this was her first time flying. Is that correct?”

Lavinia nodded in conformation. 

“No offense, Professor, but it doesn’t take much to be a better seeker than Terrence,” Flint told her quite solemnly, assessing Lavinia.

“Perhaps,” the professor allowed, “but it was really very impressive. Don’t you agree, Minerva?” she asked, turning to the other professor.

“Quite impressive,” McGonagall agreed reluctantly. “But Aurora, the point remains that Miss Evans has broken a school rule. Detention is usually the more fitting response.”

“I’m the Head of House here, Minerva.”

“And I’m leaving this at your discretion. I’m simply questioning your motivations in rewarding Miss Evans for breaking the rules.”

“Rewarding?” Professor Sinistra repeated, a glint in her eye. “With Marcus’s training schedule? I admit to wanting my House’s team to succeed, Minerva, but I’m not so far off my rocker so as to consider this a reward.”

Flint gave Lavinia a grin that probably wasn’t meant to look anywhere near as threatening as it did. “Penance, more like, she means.”

Lavinia tried to smile back, but she couldn’t do anything but just sigh. Staying composed at Hogwarts really got harder by the day, didn’t it. It took everything in her to keep the swaying floor from knocking her to the ground, and the corner was already calling to her to crumple against it and cry. She would have done just that, really, if the idea of such embarrassment wasn’t so terrifying.

The older boy turned back to the professors. “I’m not kicking Higgs off the team,” he announced. “He got a trainer over summer, and he claims that he’s better now. I’ll take her as reserve, and she can take over next year when Terrence graduates if she’s good.”

Sinistra shot a smug look at McGonagall. “Deal. I’ll let you get back to class, but please give Miss Evans your training schedule sometime tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. “Merry part, Professors,” he added belatedly, turning back before closing the door to the classroom behind.

Lavinia hesitated as the Heads of their respective Houses picked back up their bickering. “Professors?” she finally asked, cutting off a comment from Professor Sinista. “I’m afraid I’m missing something here. Do I have detention or something?”

“No,” Professor McGonagall answered, glaring at her colleague. “You’ve been put on the Slytherin House quidditch team as the reserve seeker.”

“I don’t even know how to play quidditch,” she argued. She didn’t have  _ time _ for quidditch either.

“You’ll pick it up, and Marcus will be able to teach you.”

“Can I say  _ no _ ?"

“I’m afraid this isn’t your choice, Miss Evans,” Professor Sinistra replied, frowning. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have thrown yourself after Mister Malfoy’s ring so hastily, if you weren’t prepared for any possible consequences.” 

“Yes ma’am,” she sighed. “I should be getting back to class-”

“I ended class already,” Hooch informed her. “There’s half an hour until dinner, so I just gave everyone a study period.”

“We should be getting back to our own classes, however,” McGonagall added. “Aurora, I assume you can meet with Miss Evans tonight to hear her account of today’s excitement?”

“Of course.”

“Merry part, then. And congratulations, Miss Potter.”

When she was mostly certain that the professors had gotten back to their respective classrooms, Lavinia finally moved from where her feet were planted on the cold stone, breaking into a run as she flew down the halls and turned corners that didn’t seem to lead anywhere but must have because she had arrived at a flight of stairs, so she climbed them, not caring where they took her as long as it was away from the quidditch pitch and away from the common room and just away.

She figured she was on the fifth floor by the the stairwell let out, as there was no way there were quite so many stairs just to go up one floor, and she found herself in a rather narrow little hall with no windows at all. To her right was another small spiral staircase going up, and to her left was a classroom and a main staircase going down, though the stairs weren’t there at the moment.

She let the door swing shut behind her as she stepped out, but when she looked back, it had blended in so perfectly with the wall that she wouldn’t have believed it was there.

She paced up and down the hall, but it was far too dark up there without any windows, and it was too cold, and her face was burning from fury and embarrassment and things she didn’t even care enough to try and name.

She lashed out, kicking the wall beside her as hard as she could with her boot, expecting a jolt of pain or a stubbed toe, but instead the wall moved with her foot, almost making her trip, and revealing a tiny alcove that she never would have guessed was there.

It also revealed two boys sitting on the window seat, pouring over a book with big grins on their faces which quickly dropped at her sudden appearance, as did the book, though the one on her left caught it before it hit the ground and snapped it shut. 

“Well, George,” one spoke up, still looking at her. “It appears we’ve found ourself a firstie.”

“I dunno, Fred,” the other replied. “It seems more like the firstie found us.”

“Quite right, quite right, my good man,” the one named George agreed.

“Surprised that she found us, really. We never would have found this place without the Marauders.”

“A good point, a good point. How do you think she would’ve known? Intuition?”

“Psychic powers?”

“Omniscience?”

“I kicked the wall,” Lavinia blurted. “Nothing nearly so fancy, I assure you.”

“Well,” one said after a moment.

“That would do it,” the other agreed. “Nice to meet you, little wall-kicking firstie.”

“Lavinia,” she corrected. “Lavinia Evans. And it’s nice to meet you, too. Look, I’m sorry to bother, you, really. I’ll just be going.” Bloody voice cracks.

One looked a bit alarmed but the other just shook his head, a motion that, paired with his grin, reminded her a bit of a puppy dog. “No, no, that won’t be necessary,” he assured her. “Come in, sit down, tell what’s on your mind.”

She looked up from her shoes hopefully. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Fred chimed in. “You’re welcome to join us, really. We aren’t up to anything important.”

George placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “My good brother. We are up to  _ mischief _ . We are up to  _ no good. _ “Aren’t up to anything important”- I can’t even look at you.”

Lavinia giggled at that, but letting out one emotion meant letting out the others, and suddenly she was full on crying, letting George take her arm and lead her onto the bench between them her feet curled up beside her, and she could feel her posture failing as she tried to stay steady.

“What’s wrong, kid?” he asked softly as she tried to catch her breath and wipe her tears from her face. Circe, was she glad that witches didn’t have to wear mascara.

“Everything,” she burst, resting her cheek on her hand. “I thought people just liked drama, but I think they actually hate me. Everybody glares at me all the time, and some Weasley kid tripped me last time I walked past him, and I almost spilled my potion, and the potions professor is a right prat and he took points off when I tripped. And everyone in my House hates me for being one thing and everybody else hates me for the opposite, so there’s no way to win, really. And my brother’s being a prat and he took Draco’s family ring and tried to throw it in the lake, so I flew after it and I caught it, and I just wanted to give it back and maybe show him I wasn’t going to put up with his  _ shit _ , but now I’m a reserve seeker, whatever that means. And I don’t have  _ time _ for quidditch, because I already have all my classes and then all the muggle classes I’m taking long distance, and then I have ballet and self-defense and Latin and piano to practice, and I already don’t sleep well as it is. And now I have a training schedule that’s apparently bad enough to be considered a punishment, and extra duelling lessons from Quirrell, too. And I can’t call my friends because stupid wizard school doesn’t have stupid service, and I miss my auntie, and I want to go home,” she finished, not even trying to stop the tears running down her cheeks.

“That’s… a lot,” Fred said after a moment.

She sniffled, straightening her back as best she could. “And my parents haven’t even written, and it’s been weeks, and I don’t know if they’re ever going to, and I don’t want to care, but I do, because if they say they care enough to make me leave Auntie, then they should care enough to write.”

Some understanding seemed to hit George, and he smacked his palm against his forehead. “You’re the Potter girl,” he exclaimed, realizing it finally. “That makes so much more sense now.”

Fred mirrored his brother a moment later. “Ohhh. Yeah, being a Potter in Slytherin… yeah, that would definitely do it. Wait, reserve seeker?”

“Uh-huh.” She reached to smooth her hair back from her eyes. “Professor McGonagall was going to give me detention, but Professor Sinista said this would be better because our seeker is bad. Flint didn’t want to kick the current one off yet, though, so I’m the reserve.”

Fred snorted. “Higgs is  _ terrible _ ,” he agreed. “We had to have our reserve chaser as our seeker once last year, and she still won.”

“You’re on the quidditch team?”

“Yep,” George confirmed proudly. “You’re talking to the Gryffindor beaters.”

Fred interrupted. “When you say a Weasley kid tripped you…”

“Some Gryffindor in my year. One of Oliver’s friends.”

“Oh, Ron, what have you gotten yourself into?” George muttered under his breath.

“You know him?” she asked, looking up at him.

“He’s our little brother.”

Her eyes widened. “...Oh. Erm, I apologize for being insulting, I had no idea.” She twisted her hands in her robes, feeling her face burn in embarrassment, and not the cute flush that Colleen got, this was a full on tomato-face feeling that reached down her neck and right over her ears.

Oh, she had really blown it now. Why, of all people, did she have to break down in front of the brothers of one of the boys who was the meanest to her? It would have been less embarrassing to break down in front of a  _ professor _ or something. It would have been less embarrassing to break down in the middle of the Slytherin common room.

“Hey, really, it’s fine,” Fred rushed to assure her, the alarmed look back on his features so suddenly that she almost laughed. Was it crying girls or just general comforting people that was such a source of helplessness for him?

“We swear, we swear,” George chimed in. “We grew up with the kid; we know he’s a bit of an idiot sometimes. We’re not gonna get offended over  _ Ronniekins _ , I mean  _ honestly _ , of all things to get upset about.”

“We’re upset about his behavior, though.”

“I thought that was a given, my good man.”

“To us, but not to the firstie.”

He smacked his head on the wall behind him. “Of course, of course, how could I be so dense?”

“Because one of us has to be. Just like one of us has to be devilishly handsome.” He winked at Lavinia.

“Right, right. I accepted the denseness to balance the good looks.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it, you idiot.”

“Handsome idiot,” he sniffed.

“Anyways,” Fred said loudly, shooting a glare at his brother, “we assure you that we’re not mad, and we respectfully request your approval to prank our brother in your name.”

Both boys turned to her, looking up at her with the hopeful kind of puppy dog eyes that she couldn’t resist but laugh at. It took her a moment to realize they had said anything that required an answer.

“I mean, I certainly wouldn’t  _ stop _ you,” she ventured.

“Perfect. A reluctant lack of active disapproval is all we need, promise.”

“I’ll warn you, though,” she added, pretending to be distracted by her nails, “Slytherins aren’t ones to miss out on revenge, especially not after your brother knocked Draco off his broom. You may have some competition.”

“Is that a challenge?” Fred asked immediately.

“From the princess of Slytherin, no less?” his brother added.

“I wouldn’t say I’m the princess of Slytherin,” she argued, scoffing. “They don’t even like me.”

“And all the more Slytherin you are for it!”

“The perfect prank,” Fred nodded sagely. 

“Sure, then,” she allowed, giving up. “Take it as a challenge. Prove that your pranks are better than our revenge.”

They looked at each other and nodded once. “Deal,” they chimed.   


Fred narrowed his eyes. “Wait, why do you want Gryffindors knowing about your revenge plots?”

George mirrored him. “And why are you entering a competition with no prize?”

A smile pulled at her lips, a smug, expectant sort of smile. “I’ve doubled the force of the revenge and taken the blame off my House; that’s prize enough for me.”

“Definitely the princess,” Fred told his brother.

“We’re keeping her,” George agreed.

“I think I should be the judge of that,” Lavinia interrupted airily. 

“And what is your great judgement, your highness?”

“O princess, we are at your mercy!” George beseeched her, clasping his hands before him in a prayer.

She bit at her lip to keep from breaking her character. “Fine,” she replied primly. “Just for now.” 

“Perfect,” they exclaimed. 

“Now, get to dinner, Princess,” George told her. “We have planning to do.”

She had to admit, as she let them usher her out of their hideout and made her way down to dinner to catch the end of it, she really did feel a lot better after talking to them. 

The rest of the week was somewhat easier after that, since Slytherin house wasn’t going to simply  _ not _ back Draco Malfoy, especially when he was up against Oliver Potter, so that meant that, by extension, they were somewhat on her side as well.

It was refreshing. She wasn’t used to the appraising looks they sent her, the grudgingly impressed comments about her flying, the general  _ ‘we might not care, but you’re one of us’ _ that she was finally awarded. Who knew that she just needed to publicly ally a rich kid who they were too scared or at least too smart to go against?

In hindsight, she probably should have known that.

Professor Sinistra talked to her after dinner about the events that night, and Lavinia wasn’t sure she had ever spoken to a professor who was so fiercely on her side.

She had asked for a detailed recount of events, from the moment they got to flying lessons, to Weasley pointing a wand at Draco, to the fear she felt when he fell and the way his body contorted on the ground. She told the professor about every comment Oliver had made about Draco so far that year, and everything he suggested he do with the ring. She talked about how it felt to fly after it, the wind in her hair and her robes billowing about her and the freedom she felt when she let go of the broom and let her magic guide the broom to where the ring was falling towards the lake.

She even mentioned how Weasley was the one who tripped her the first day, how the Gryffindors mocked her and the snakes had only recently stopped glaring. It was therapeutic, really, to get it all out there to an adult who was getting more and more infuriated on her behalf as she went on. She doubted she would really be able to do anything, and Professor Sinistra had voiced the same concern, but it was a relief regardless to know that someone was listening, that someone believed her, that someone cared.

The professor had offered to talk to the Slytherins about their behavior, but Lavinia opted to let it go. They were already moving past it, albeit slowly, and she would really have hated to ruin that.

She made it through the duel with Quirrell, too, and she was honestly quite surprised at the man’s skill. She would have considered herself a pretty good dueller, but she wasn’t very practiced at duelling with an actual wand and actual spells, so he wiped the floor with her rather easily, despite his claims that she was, in reality, quite skilled. He was just an entirely unfair opponent.

He was impressed with her style, however, and had offered additional duelling lessons every Thursday and Sunday night, which, against her better judgement, she accepted. She really wasn’t sure how anyone expected her to stay awake. But he not only accepted but encouraged her nature while duelling, the violence in her spells and the tricks in her movements that she hid from the other teachers during class, that even Astok had told her were either against proper duelling protocol or should have been. When she sent a table flying at him in their second round, pinning him to the wall, he  _ laughed _ , not even in amusement but in sheer delight. 

He quizzed her while they duelled in much the same way that he did during class, a series of rapid questions that she wouldn’t quite realize where they led until they got there, but his questions were more… graphic, with questions about how best to dismember someone with whatever was already in the room, the pressure points and most dangerous places to hit someone, how to use really simply, seemingly harmless, spells to win a duel.

The questions were a relief, really. She was rather shit at defense, if she was being honest. She could hold a shield alright, she could disarm, usually, but past that she was hopeless in an actual duel when she was on the spot. He berated her for relying on her offense, but the look of pride and interest each time she answered with the ways she would use an everyday object or spell to bash his head in, his smile only grew.

He didn’t stutter in duels, which was good in the greater scheme of things, as it would be endlessly annoying to be taught to duel by someone who repeated every consonant eight times, not to mention that it wouldn’t be a realistic reference for any actual duels she would take part in, but she was somewhat disheartened by her lack of even a singular advantage. She wondered if it was an issue of being in front of crowds that made him stutter, and being one on one let it go away. Lucy had had a bit of a speech impediment when they were younger, but it had never sounded so… cartoonish as Quirrell’s did.

They had finished the lesson at almost one in the morning, but it had felt like barely ten minutes while also feeling like days and days of effort. And she had thought she was in shape. He had sent her off with a list of spells and positions to practice, claiming that he wanted to see improvement by the next Thursday when they had another lesson.

She had barely gotten back to her room when she knocked out, unsure of how she had even made it so long in the first place.

Even after the twins had taken their revenge,  _ spectacular _ revenge, if she did say so herself, she didn’t stop meeting up with them. No one could know, of course, as all of their reputations could be ruined, but they still seemed to run into each other, alive with the feeling of secrets, whispering a time in the other’s ear or passing them a note in the hall. They would meet in the same little hideout up on what she learned was in fact the fifth floor, just to talk. Lavinia would ask them things about Hogwarts and the people around them, while they would ask her for advice on their pranks and attempt to weasel information about Slytherin from her, a venture that was, as a general rule, highly unsuccessful.

The Slytherins had enacted their revenge as well, though not through pranks as the twins preferred. It had taken a few days of planning, and she and her yearmates had become highly reluctant allies during that time, which gave her quite the thrill, but finally, a few days later, they had planned and plotted to their hearts’ content, and the revenge began.

And who cared, really, in the end, if a random redhead was in the hospital wing for a few days? 

Those moving staircases really were a pain to master- Lavinia could only empathize with the poor boy. And what did it matter, really, in the end, if Lavinia remembered the twins mentioning Ron’s fear of spiders in one of their stories? Who would be able to confirm anything if he saw the color red as green and the floor as covered with snakes and spiders for a few weeks?

He had hit his head quite hard, the poor boy. Concussions could have truly nasty effects.

Life had settled down in a lot of ways, something that was highly appreciated for someone whose life was going to be busy and eventful regardless of any outside forces. Lavinia could only hope it would stay that way long enough for her to appreciate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just did not want to come out! It took me a little longer than I meant it to, and it's not as long as I wanted, but I like it well enough. Please let me know what you thought and I hope you enjoyed! Find me on tumblr now at venus-ink.
> 
> Also please know. If anyone is willing to draw a picture of Lavinia sitting all prim and poised on the window seat between the Weasley twins (who exist in their usual fashion), I will love you forever and ever !!
> 
> also, fun fact, we hit 69k today, lads. so, how to say- niiiiiiice


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's that store called? Quidditch, rituals, rumors, and beyond? Wait no, that's just my chapter.

“Flint,” she asked slowly, gritting her teeth behind her smile so she wouldn’t have to show her distaste for his very existence just then, and she was sure he could practically see her counting to ten in her head, “are you too bloody illiterate to read a clock, or are you actually aware that it’s four in the morning, and chose to bother me anyway?”

He tilted his head to the side, giving her that smugly unimpressed look of  _ really?  _ and  _ really, _ it was a miracle she hadn’t cursed the boy yet. “You’re already up, Potter. Why do you even care?”

“It’s Evans. And my dysfunctional sleep schedule is not an excuse for you to hassle me before the sun has even begun to peek over the horizon.”   


“Oh, come-on,” he complained. “Where’s that Slytherin ambition,  _ Evans _ ?”

She gaped at him incredulously, unsure how to even respond to such levels of absurdity that existed in that comment. “Flint. Do you realize that I take seven classes here, four muggle classes long distance, practice ballet and piano two hours every day, study multiple extracurricular languages, and take additional duelling lessons, which require practice in advance? I think my Slytherin ambition is perfectly present, and it’s not telling me to go flying at four in the morning.”

“Quidditch is the only thing worth getting up at four in the morning for,” he denied through the look of almost concern he was giving her, reminding her of how one looked at a small child whose parents who had allowed them near a stove or a teacup someone was about to push off a table- worrying, a bit disturbing, but not his problem or in his control. “But whatever you might think about it, it’s what you’re doing. Go get changed if you have to and meet me back here within fifteen minutes.”

She sighed, pushing the end table away from where she had pulled it to rest in front of the chair she had curled up in, and gathered her things to bring back to her dorm. “My Slytherin ambition is telling you to go fuck yourself, Flint,” she called when she was half up the staircase.

“Already did, sweetheart,” he called back, and the comment was so incredibly muggle that she had to roll her eyes.

Her things could just go in a stack on her bed, she figured, as she would certainly be back in time for breakfast. If they were out longer than an hour or two, she was going to riot. She slipped into a set of muggle athletic clothes, because honestly? If he wanted her to exercise before the sun was up, he could deal with a pair of leggings and a sports bra. She brought a thin jacket that matched the leggings, but it usually only took a few minutes of warm-ups before she didn’t really need it. There were warming charms, after all, if it really got bad. She laced up her sneakers, pulling her hair into a tight ponytail at the crown of her head, and grabbed her seeker’s gloves off from the wardrobe. She hadn’t understood why she needed gloves, at first, but it only took one attempt at catching the little gold ball with the matching metal wings until she realized that going without them would only cause her pain.

Staring at her reflection for a moment longer with a somewhat dead expression, she flashed the mirror a pose and went on her way, taking care not to wake up any of the other girls, though, to be honest, she wasn’t sure what would ever wake them up that early. Daphne was physically incapable of being woken before seven, and Pansy, who had the room another past her, couldn’t be woken by anything. Ever. The only light sleeper was Millicent, and she was four rooms down, so Lavinia wasn’t particularly worried. But it was better to be cautious.

She reached the common room once again, adopting the harshest glare she could muster to send at her absolute bastard of a quidditch captain. 

“That wasn’t too hard, was it,” he teased, flicking her ponytail. 

She smacked his hand, hard enough to make him pull away and shake it out, scowling at her as her glare morphed into an over-innocent smile. “Let’s just get this over with?” she offered, her tone as sweet as those awful decorative sugar pieces on grocery store cakes.

“Yeah. Here, I know a shortcut,” he added, grabbing her arm before she could go the usual way. “It’s a bit tight, so I don’t have the entire team use it,” he answered her question before she could voice it. “Not to mention that I’d rather it not smell like seven sweaty guys.”

She followed him down the back hall, and, lo and behold, where she had thought was a dead end was apparently the way to get to yet another little passageway. It was fun, it really was, the way Hogwarts never seemed to end, and every time one went somewhere they would end up going a slightly different way, but sometimes she wished these passages wouldn’t keep sneaking up on her, popping out when she least expected in places she thought she had known about. 

The ceilings were low in that bit of the hallway, and Flint could easily reach the ceiling with his hand raised. She could probably reach it, too, with a bit of a jump, if she was guessing correctly, as she had no interest in testing such a theory at the time. He tapped his wand on a stone that jutted out, just a bit, and a section of the stone slid out of their way, grinding against the ceiling with a painful sort of scratch.

She wasn’t sure how it would help to have an opening in the ceiling, but Flint waved his wand a bit more and down came a rope ladder like the ones they attached to the apple trees at Colleen’s grandmother’s house so that they could get up high enough to pick the fruit and sit hidden in the branches while they ate it. 

“The ladder only reaches up the one floor,” he informed her. “Then there’s stairs. But you can’t get to this from any of the other floors, so here we are. After you?”

She didn’t particularly want to go first, not when she didn’t know where they were going, not exactly at least, but she also figured it would be best to have someone behind her who could easily catch her, or at least cushion her fall should it come down to that. Unless the hole in the ceiling was just an unnecessarily small entrance to a spacious passage, then the staircase would be just as tight as Flint had warned her the shortcut would be. 

She swung herself up the ladder, a practiced motion so painfully familiar that it almost hurt, and pulled herself onto the stone ledge, letting Flint get almost to the ledge beside her before continuing up the tight spiral staircase at his shooing gesture.

She figured it would be about three flights worth of stairs, as there were four floors to the Slytherin complex, and it felt just about right when she finally reached the top, where a short door awaited them, about the size of a door that usually led to a crawlspace or attic space.

She waited for Flint to catch up to her so he could cast the spell to unlock the door, as it didn’t take the normal  _ alohomora  _ that she tried. She ducked under the doorway and found herself on the outside of the castle, and she could see the quidditch pitch right around the corner. That couldn’t be right.

“Either I have a  _ terrible _ sense of direction, or…”

“It’s magic,” he confirmed. “This is not where that should lead.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m relieved?” she told him, and she could see a smile tease at his lips.

They trekked through the grounds to the pitch, the dew soaking through her sneakers and falling from the trees to settle in her hair, and she really hoped that she would be able to find the shortcut again. It really saved so much time.

“Wait here,” he told her, leaving her on the edge of the pitch while he ran off to the shed under the Slytherin bleachers. It was only minute until he returned, two brooms in hand and a large case that looked a bit like an old fashioned suitcase. “How much do you know about quidditch?” he asked. “I know the last few practices have just been exercising and flying, so I haven’t gotten a chance to really teach you anything.”

“I know the rules,” she offered. “Draco explained it some, and I read a book on it.”

“You read a book.”

She frowned. “I don’t exactly have a way to just practice whenever I want, Flint,” she reminded him. “I’ve only flown the handful of times in flying lessons, and Hooch watches me like a hawk after the first one.”

“That was very impressive,” he remarked, cutting her off somewhat. “Aurora showed me the memory.”

“You call her Aurora?” she blurted, before shaking her head. “Nevermind. But since first years can’t even have brooms, there’s not a whole lot I can do. So I memorized the rules, figured that way there’s less to have to explain.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, setting the case on the ground and popping it open to reveal probably about ten balls of three different types. “And a lot of the teachers are more relaxed with address once you’re seventeen. And I know her pretty well; I’m one of the very few people who takes advanced astronomy. Now, tell me what each of these balls are called and how they’re used.”

“The biggest one is the quaffle,” she began to recite. “The chasers pass it down the pitch to get it through the other team’s goals, defended by the keeper. The next ones are the bludgers, and the beaters’ job is to keep them from knocking their own teammates off their brooms.” She thought of her twins and fought back a grin. “The smallest is the golden snitch. The seekers race to catch it, and it ends the game and wins a hundred and fifty points.”

He actually looked a bit surprised, maybe even impressed. “That’s right. Now, the only one you need to worry about, for now at least, is the snitch.” He pulled one of the snitches of out of the case, holding it between his thumb and his middle finger. “So what you’re going to do now,” he told her, handing her a broom, “is catch them.” And he released the snitch, its little wings buzzing as it flew away. He repeated the action with four other snitches and waited until they were all out of range.

“Your time starts now.”

Her eyes widened as she swung her leg over the broom automatically, pushing off the ground without even really realizing she had done so. She was up fifty feet in the air before she remembered to look for the snitch. The sun still wouldn’t be up for a few hours, but the sky was a little lighter now, and there was enough light for it to reflect off a little gold ball. She scanned the pitch but couldn’t see anything, so she dropped her weight to her right, letting the old broom take the lead and make a quick loop around the pitch. 

She had almost made a full circle when she saw a glint of something in the stands below her, and she angled her broom almost straight down, hurtling towards it at a speed that was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. 

She had one arm outstretched, waiting to close around the ball, when suddenly it zipped away, straight up, weaving through the seats. And  _ that _ was just annoying.

She redirected her flight with a renewed passion, chasing after the snitch, and that time, she was actually successful. The snitch had led their chase into the seats, and she actually had to throw herself half off the broom, hanging on only in the crook of one knee and nothing more, to grab it from under a seat.

The next four snitches came without too much complication, though that appeared to be a relative term in quidditch, where the balls themselves had magic and didn’t care how awkward a location was for the seeker. One, she found in a tree, one was just in the air and hadn’t seemed to notice her approaching, one was actually  _ under _ the stands in a latticework she hadn’t realized was even there.

The last, though, was by far the most fun. She actually got the opportunity to swan-dive directly off her broom, no force containing her but gravity and the wind in her hair, until she caught the snitch only about twenty feet off the ground, and her broom followed her down so she could take hold of it before she hit the ground with any harmful amount of impact, something that had her gloriously reminded of Aladdin being caught last second by the magic carpet. 

Flint seemed torn between exasperation and adoration as she landed beside him, one hand full of snitches and the other holding her broom like Mary Poppins and her magic umbrella.

“So here’s what you’re going to do,” he said finally, his firm tone accepting no argument. “I don’t know how, I don’t care how. But you’re going to make sure that Terrence can’t play at the match against Hufflepuff in a few weeks’ time. Got that?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, giving him a muggle salute that only seemed to confuse him.

“If you really need to go back now, you can,” he told her, “but if you don’t, then I can show you some tricks up there.”

She was torn; on one hand, she really did have a lot of work to get done, on the other…

“Fine. You have half an hour,” she agreed.

“Deal. And you’d better show me how you did that thing where you hung on the broom with one leg.”

“Deal.”

And so quidditch became something of a highlight in her weeks.

It was time consuming, certainly, and took up most of her weekends, but, when she didn’t have to drive or take a bus anywhere, or even walk more than a few minutes, not to mention the lack of curfew other than simply having to be in the Slytherin complex by ten-thirty, she found herself with a lot more time than before. She and Daphne and sometimes the rest of their suitemates found time to talk at night before bed, curled up in their sitting room with tea and biscuits and homework. She saw Draco in class and meals and every bit of spare time she had, hold the time spent with Fred and George.

She had continued to practice with Marcus, as he had finally offered to let her call him, at four on Tuesday mornings and then often again late some nights, and it had stopped feeling so much like a chore. As seeker, she didn’t actually interact much with the other players during the games, hold maybe a beater who was keeping a bludger away from her, so he didn’t actually have all that much to teach her. Instead, they would just fly around for a couple hours, practicing tricks and tossing the quaffle around. She had actually gotten quite good at playing keeper, as well, as she would help him practice as chaser.

He had taken to becoming something of an older brother figure to her, and no one in the house quite understood it. The Flints were blood purists to the point of inbreeding, and the boy himself was generally quite gruff and standoffish, but they got along perfectly, really. She was happy enough to fly without talking overly much, and she was one of the only people who could match him for insults and comebacks when he chose to send them. And so he was strangely protective, she thought was the only real word for it, and Slytherin generally listened to their quidditch captain, at least enough to know not to piss him off, so life was looking up for Lavinia.

She had taken up knitting again, finally, and it had been far more of a success than she had expected. It had taken a few tries to get the hang of it again, but the magic in her needles kept the yarns smooth and kept them from knotting, and while she hadn’t figured out how to actually use the magic for any specific purpose, the scarved she made for her and her friends seemed a bit warmer than usual scarves, a bit easier to fit under clothes, a bit softer than the yarn felt on the ball.

She wished yet again that she could tell her friends about everything she was doing. Devonte and probably Colleen as well would have loved to learn about quidditch, and she was sure they would have made up a muggle version within a day if she could. And Lucy would have loved the twins, she decided, if they could ever get a chance to meet. Thomas, even would have-

“Lavinia,” came a sharp whisper from beside her. “Look awake before McGonagall gets to us.”

“Right, right,” she muttered, looking at the small mouse McGonagall had given her that was about to run off her desk. She could see it in its eyes. 

“You may begin,” the professor announced as she gave the last table their mice, and Lavinia could see the professor’s eyes on her.

“ _ Muresarca, _ ” she murmured, waving her wand in a small circle, and the squirming little animal turned into a snuffbox like the little one she had at home that she kept her jewelry in, a little oval shaped porcelain thing in a muted shade of Slytherin green with gold curled etching around the corners and the clasp that held it shut, and a pretty design she had drawn the other day for Daphne, gold butterflies perched on a coiled white snake. It had really been little more than a sketch that she had made, but Daphne had insisted on pinning it up on her wall, and Lavinia had sworn to herself that she would make a full copy of it, maybe even paint one if she found the time and motivation.

“Very good, Miss Evans,” McGonagall praised. “Five points to Slytherin, and five more if you can turn it back to a mouse then back to this same snuffbox.”

Lavinia shot a smile at Daphne, but her friend was watching Oliver, who Lavinia noticed was absolutely outraged, though she couldn’t quite figure out why. Maybe he had wanted to finish his first? But why would that only upset him now? He never finished his first, and he did always finish among the first few. It didn’t make any sense. Turning back to her assignment, she did as the professor asked, winning the woman’s proud smile, but, tragically, not permission to keep the snuffbox. It was a shame, really, what with how Daphne had been eyeing it.

She kept absently turning it back and forth for the rest of class while she talked to Daphne and Draco, creating snuffboxes with different patterns and colors and designs until they laughed. Draco was a particular fan of the neon pink furry one she made near the end of class, and McGonagall was stuck in the position of scolding them for the distraction and giving Lavinia points for the design, though her exact words had been, “I said you get points for how  _ pretty _ the snuffbox is, Miss Evans, not how painful it is to look at,” all while giving her points. It was ridiculous, really. It was as though the woman was just  _ looking _ for ways to give her points. And McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor! Absolutely ridiculous.

“Daphne, Lav?” Draco asked as they were packing their things. “Want to bring lunch to the grounds?”

“I’m up for it.”

“Sure, Dray.”

“Smashing. And don’t call me Dray,” he complained, and Daphne reached over to mess up his hair, as she tended to do when he was in a mood.

“Don’t call me  _ Lav _ ,” she shot back, smiling at the way his hair stuck out in all directions and reaching up to fix it. He was really so much taller than he needed to be. It wasn’t fair; he should have had to share a few centimeters with her.

His face had turned a rather brilliant shade of red. Did he really hate being called Dray so much? She hadn’t noticed him looking quite so embarrassed by it before.

“Come-on, let’s get there before all the good stuff is gone,” she said, grabbing his hand to pull him after her and letting Daphne hold her other arm.

“The food is literally endless, Lavinia,” Daphne reminded her. “The food you want is never going to be gone.”

“That’s not the point, Daphne.”

Draco paused and turned to her. “Then what  _ is _ the point?” he asked, his eyes squinted in confusion, as though doing things simply for the principle of the matter had never occurred to him.

She almost rolled her eyes. “Nothing,” she said instead, chewing on her lip to hold in her smile. Bloody wizards. One would think that such a traditional group would understand the concept of doing things for no reason but that it was how things were done.

“What do we think?” Daphne asked, assessing the Slytherin table. “What here is packable?”

“We could make sandwiches?” Draco offered. “There’s bread by Higgs.”

"Quiche and apples?” Lavinia suggested. “It looks like there’s a plate of it next to Travers.”

“Perfect.”

Regardless of the endless nature of the food at Hogwarts, they were lucky they had gotten there quickly, as, by the time they were leaving the hall, it was packed with students, and they never would have been able to get to the tables easily enough to grab what they wanted and go.

They went to their usual spot, a small clearing by one of the smaller ponds on the grounds, where the rocks were large enough and flat enough to share comfortably, and the water and the forest made for a gorgeous view. A weeping willow hung over them, casting lines of shadow across their features and keeping the sun off when it was warm out, though it certainly wasn’t by that time of year.

“Say,” Daphne said once they had all settled down, “what do you think Hogwarts does for Samhain? It’s barely over a week away now; you would think they would have some preparations set up.”

Lavinia frowned, thinking back to what she had heard James rambling about when it came to Hogwarts. “I may be mistaken, but I believe Hogwarts celebrates Halloween. You know, pumpkins, candy, costume parties-   


“Halloween?” Draco cried. “That’s ridiculous. That’s embarrassing. That’s an  _ abomination _ , Lavinia. I can’t be seen celebrating Halloween.”

“What are they going to do that’s all that wrong? I mean they’ll call it something different, but it’s still an autumn celebration with a feast and everything.”

“There are  _ ceremonies _ ,” he told her, eyes wide in earnest. “There are ways to go about these things that a Halloween celebration isn’t going to offer. Everyone’s just going to be expected to eat their weight in candy and dress up as ghosts, which is both offensive  _ and _ ridiculous on a day such as that.”

“Samhain is a religious and spiritual festival,” Daphne clarified, cutting him off as neither of the girls could see him being done with his rant anytime soon. “There are rituals one can perform and specific foods to eat, clothes to wear, ways to act and celebrate. Samhain is both a ceremony for the harvest, which already makes it very different from Halloween- it’s much more connected to nature- and it’s the day when the veil is the thinnest.”

Draco, who had called down a bit by then, spoke up at that. “Certain rituals you can do will actually allow you to call to the dead, particularly your ancestors.”

“You can talk to the dead?”

“Not  _ talk _ to them, per se,” Daphne replied, taking a bite of her apple and tilting her head to the side curiously. “It really depends on the person. But it’s a way to connect to them, to honor them, to mourn them. Sometimes you don’t really need them to respond to your call, and it’s enough just to get to speak to them, or to honor them. Occasionally people ask for advice, but that’s a bit…”

“Frowned upon,” Draco supplied.

“Yes, that. It’s one thing to ask for an ancestor’s blessing, that’s actually quite normal, but it’s considered rather disrespectful to badger the dead.”

“The day is meant to be about them?” Lavinia offered, trying to understand. She’d read about pagan celebrations, she and her friends had even tried one once, and Lady Miera had mentioned them a handful of time, but she was sure the entire thing was different when one actually had magic and used it in the celebration. “So if you ask for advice, that’s about you, but if you ask for their blessing, that’s still about them.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” she agreed. “It’s a beautiful ceremony, and it’s very… purifying, for the magic, to mingle with the otherworld like that. Depending on your magic and the ritual itself, of course, but it’s highly unlikely to have a  _ bad _ effect.”

“And even if it did nothing, it’s traditional,” Draco added. “We don’t celebrate Halloween here. We have our own holidays, and it’s all being erased.”

He looked so upset at that that she had to scoot over to give him a hug, resting her head on the crook of his shoulder. “Then let’s throw one anyway,” she suggested. “I don’t think there’s anything they can do to stop us.”

“Actually,” Daphne cut in, her tone betraying her awkwardness as she set down her food to clasp her hands in her robes, “most of the rituals are illegal. The celebration itself isn’t, of course, which is why we figured Hogwarts would still celebrate, but the actual rituals can put you in Azkaban if you’re not careful.”

“That’s disturbing,” she said, honestly, if a bit dismissive. “But, really, who’s going to catch us? We just have to be careful.”

“I’m in,” Draco agreed immediately. “Samhain’s my favorite celebration, I couldn’t imagine going a year without, let alone seven.”

“I’m in as well,” Daphne chimed in after a moment. “But we need a fourth person for most of the rituals, and Tracey’s family doesn’t celebrate the Sabbats.”

“Pansy’s already going home on the first of November for her family’s celebration,” Draco added. “And Theo’s going with her. Their families have been celebrating together for three or four generations now."

“I have that one covered,” Lavinia interrupted, a plan forming in her mind and a smile growing on her face. “Just leave it to me.”

It took hours of planning spread over the following week: finding the exact location for a ritual, studying and memorizing the ritual circles and incantations- the first of which was made up of runes, which was fascinating, and the second of which was Latin, which she translated into English for her friends to memorize easier-, the excuses they wanted to use, which they decided would be something about how she celebrated her birthday on October thirty-first, and every other bit of logistics they could think of. 

So, when that night came, they ditched right before the feast was supposed to start, and Lavinia, Draco, Daphne, and Marcus snuck down to the clearing they had found, which was technically in the Forest, but not in the part of it that was known for being dangerous. It was, however, far enough away from the main part of the grounds that no one would find their trace, magical or otherwise, until it was already gone.

And, for the first time really since she had gotten to Hogwarts, it all went off without a hitch. 

She hadn’t really been sure who to reach out to, but Draco had shown her a copy of her family tree in one of his fancy pureblood books, and she had found the ancestor they had perfectly in common, a Lucretia Black back in the mid 1800’s, and asked for her blessing on their friendship, and, though she couldn’t quite explain how, she knew that the blessing had been given.

It was bad luck, however, according to Daphne, to tell anyone, especially the people one performed the ceremony with, who they had spoken to after the ceremony. It would have been fine if she had already told them, as Draco had already told them that he would reach out to his grandfather, as he did every year, but after the fact it was simply not done.

She wasn’t sure if it had done something to purify her magic or not, but whatever it had done had taken every bit of energy she had ever even hoped to have out of her, and she slept through the night and midmorning like a baby, as did her friends. It was really a relief that Hogwarts cancelled morning classes after holidays, because herbology was really the absolute last thing she wanted to do after all that.

By the time she was up and bathed and dressed, it was past eleven, and even Pansy was awake.

“Where were you two last night?” she asked Lavinia and Daphne as they slipped into the sitting room. 

“Celebrating Lavinia’s birthday,” Daphne answered immediately. She really wasn’t the best at lying, Lavinia realized, though that may have been more an issue of who she was lying to.

Pansy looked at her a bit strangely. “Alright,” she said slowly. “Anyways, you’re probably lucky you missed it.”

Lavinia waited for her to continue, but she didn’t say anything more. “What happened?” she asked after another moment, indulging the other girl.

“Think of the most ridiculous thing you can imagine in Hogwarts, then make it dangerous,” she suggested drily. “We were halfway through the feast, which was actually impressively good, given that everything else in the hall was covered in plastic pumpkins and hanging “ghosts” and things.” Lavinia could almost  _ hear _ the air quotes. “Everyone ate more candy than they ever should have, and I can’t entirely count myself out of that group, I’m afraid, but just when they started singing songs, Quirrell ran in screaming bloody murder.”

The girl was getting really into the story at that point, leaning forward from where she sat in her oversized chair, her eyes wide and her hands enunciating every word. “Except instead of ‘bloody muder’, he was screaming ‘troll’. In the dungeons.”

There was a troll here?” Daphne gasped, wrapping an arm around her stomach as though she was going to be sick. “How did it even get into the school in the first place? Wouldn’t it have set off the wards?”

“Why didn’t Quirrell fight the troll himself?” Lavinia asked over her friend. “He’s the Defense teacher, you would think it would be somewhat his job to do so.”

“Quirrell couldn’t fight anything,” Pansy argued, appear a bit upset that they had both cut off her story.

Lavinia shook her head. “I’ve been getting duelling lessons from him for weeks; he’s scary when he actually tries. I would have figured he would go after it.”

“Well, he didn’t,” Pansy told her. “He ran directly into the great hall screaming ‘troll in the dungeons!’ and then promptly passed out, directly in front of the stairs. It was rather funny, if I’m being honest, I mean, he was running, and then he was just  _ down _ . But that all made it rather more eventful than we had all intended the night to be.”

“Did the police- er, aurors- come?” she had to ask. If anyone or anything had broken into St. Margaret’s, the police would have been over in minutes to find and deal with the threat.

But Pansy just looked confused. “No? The teachers went to find it while we were all waiting in the Hall. Well, actually, we were supposed to go to the common rooms, but Professor Sinistra finally got it through Dumbledore’s head that Slytherins aren’t actually bloody expendable.”

Lavinia just had to stare at her for a few moments.

“Oh, apologies,” the girl added after a moment. “For the language.”

“No, no, don’t,” Lavinia told her. “I’m just… He actually tried to send the Slytherins to the dungeons? The dungeons in which he had just learned there was a troll? He actually thought it made any sense to send a quarter of the school directly towards the threat? Or even have the students go  _ anywhere _ in the halls when there was a loose threat? Even my old school had intruder drills a handful of times, but we were to hide in the classroom we were already in, or the closest one if we were in the halls, and no one was allowed to leave until the threat was dealt with.”

“Everyone knows Dumbledore doesn’t give a thought to the Slytherins,” Pansy told her as though it were common knowledge that she was quite stupid for not knowing. Lady Miera had told her some about the houses and the relevant politics, of course, and she was a Slytherin herself, but while she had mentioned the prejudices against them, it had never quite sunk in that the actual school management was so biased as to put students in danger just for their score on a personality test.

“Aren’t the Hufflepuff dorms in the basements as well?” asked Daphne. “Supposedly there’s a way to get to them through the dungeon system. Not through the complex,” she clarified for Lavinia. “Just through the dungeons themselves. I heard one of the upper years talking about it.”

“Yes, they are,” Pansy confirmed. “Andrew had a friend in Hufflepuff who he would visit. But it’s a tricky path, apparently, and includes a lot of doors that a troll wouldn’t be able to fit through. Maybe a baby troll, though. I don’t know that one, actually. They would have been safe once they were in there, of course, but depending on how they chose to access the Sett, they could have gone right through the path.”

“Ridiculous,” Daphne sniffed. “I’m glad we missed it.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the good part,” Pansy huffed. “See, after Sinistra made him give up his Slytherin-killing crusade and let us all stay in the Hall where it was safe, the teachers went after the troll and the prefects herded us all together in the hall, vaguely sorted by year and house but not really. But that mudblood girl, the Gryffindor who always glares at Evans there-”

“Granger,” Lavinia supplied. “We don’t need to be rude.”

“Whatever. She had run out of the hall earlier in the feast after the Weasley boy said something rude to her that she probably deserved-”

“Pansy,” Daphne warned. 

“Stop interrupting me if you want me to tell you things,” Pansy shot back. 

“You’d tell us anyway, and you know it,” Lavinia reminded her. 

“Not the point. Anyway, she had run out of the hall to go cry in the bathroom- don’t cut me off, Daphne, that’s quite literally what she was doing- so she didn’t know about the troll.”

“The troll was in the dungeons, though,” Lavinia spoke up. “She wasn’t in-”

“Literally any danger,” Pansy finished. “I know. As did every other reasonable person. But your brother is not a reasonable person, and I suppose Weasley finally realized what guilt is, so they ran off to go save her. Not to get a teacher, not to get a prefect, just to go lead the troll directly into the girls’ bathroom where the girl was, and then heroically conquer it.”

“How did they conquer it? How did it even get out of the dungeons?”

“How should I know? Do I look like a troll expert?”

“Well, you’d have to be, with a face like-”

“No, but you’re our in-house gossip expert,” Lavinia cut her friend off, as Pansy hurled a pillow directly into Daphne’s grin, looking surprisingly proper even as she did so. “If anyone were to know, it would be you.”

Pansy looked quite smug at that. “You have a point there. And I heard, though I haven’t heard it confirmed, that Weasley stuck his wand up its nose, and the other two levitated the thing’s club and knocked it over the head with it.” She looked at them expectantly then, waiting for a laugh.

“That’s… not the least believable thing to happen since I got here,” Lavinia allowed. “Oliver and Granger are both very good at Charms, and I honestly expect nothing more of Weasley than that.”

Daphne nodded. “I’m more surprised by Weasley feeling guilt than I am by him sticking is wand up a troll’s nose.”

Pansy scoffed. “I’m not. She’s a Gryffindor. And she’s rather pretty, though you won’t hear me admit it again. I think I just may get my hair natural like that over summer,” she mused, running her fingers over her blunt ironed bob. “Well, that or braids like that seventh year, the Selwyn girl, has. You’ve seen her,” she chided at Lavinia’s confusion. “She has the green tips.”

That actually did a ring a bell. She was one of the Slytherin prefects, the one that everyone thought should have been Head Girl if not for the prejudice, and she was so gorgeous it was almost unfair. She had spoken to Lavinia once, just to ask her if she could borrow her book once she was done with it, and her heart rate hadn’t gone down for a good ten minutes.

“Anyway, my point was that it’s not all that surprising, really. Also, I think it’s worth mentioning that I would not stick my wand up a troll’s nose for either of you. Maybe Millie, but that’s it.”

“The feeling is perfectly mutual,” Daphne agreed, Lavinia nodding along with her.

“Lovely. Shall we get brunch?”

______

Tom was having a bad day.

And living without one’s own corporal form for just over twelve years, and counting, made one quite accustomed to days that fell far beneath one’s previous standards, so for this particular day to stand out as a bad one meant that it was really very bad indeed.

He was no stranger to the concept of having followers, hadn’t been since he was a teenager, really, though of course at that time he was still unaccustomed to the whole idea, and handled it all rather poorly, though he would never admit it to anyone else. What he was, however, was entirely unused to having to  _ depend _ on said followers to the extent which he had to depend upon the singular idiot that was Quirinus Quirrell.

When he’d found the man wandering in Albania, of all places, he’d recognized him, somewhat. He was a very, very low level death eater, closer to a supporter than an actual member, as Tom had yet to use him for anything at all. But even the lowest of the low was far too terrified to actual refuse him just about anything, and he had an in at Hogwarts, so he had taken the opportunity for what it was and possessed him, which strange enough as it was.

But, much as he may hate to admit such a thing, he was, especially at the beginning, incredibly weak. He couldn’t even take any form of full control over Quirrell, so he just had to float in his mind, an aimless spirit of a man, the ghost of a leader, the remnants of a long dead deity, until he had gained the strength to even form clear enough thought to influence the man.

It took practice, of course, learning the exact amount of pressure he needed to apply to make the man act a certain way versus say or do something exactly how he asked. It also took a lot of frankly embarrassing moments while he got used to controlling his body and tripped over any and everything, not to mention the conversations when he and Quirrell would try to speak simultaneously. But with time, he had become mostly accustomed to it, and it really wasn’t too much of a hassle.

What was a hassle, however, was that he didn’t control the man all the time, as it would require far too much power, and he rarely actually payed any attention to what he did while he was the one in charge. So it wasn’t even until the day after Samhain that he had realized that the bloody  _ idiot _ he had chosen to share a body with had decided to release a troll inside Hogwarts. 

_ Yes _ , he had given the man a mission, to steal the bloody Philosopher’s stone from Hogwarts.  _ Yes _ , he should have expected that the easiest way to check something is to cause a distraction and then go while everyone’s upset. But he did  _ not, ever _ ask the stupid fuck to set a troll on the Great Hall. And he felt that everyone should be aware of such a fact: Lord Voldemort did  _ not _ ask for this. 

Not only that, but the man had actually gotten himself attacked by a three headed dog, the very first obstacle before the Stone, like the useless follower he was, and now they had a limp. Again. And they were no closer to getting the actual stone.

So that certainly,  _ certainly _ , counted as a bad day.

He was just sitting in his chair, mulling over what could possibly make his problems any better, when all his mulling was interrupted by a knock at the door to his rooms. Er, Quirrell’s rooms.

Actually, fuck that. If the man was going to be so thickheaded that he would have to take full control of their shared body at all times but when it slept, it was bloody well his rooms. 

“Professor?” came a muffled voice. “It’s eleven; we agreed to meet at ten-thirty tonight, since we couldn’t have lessons on Sunday.”

He straightened, setting his tea back on the saucer. He had completely forgotten about the girl, caught too far up in his thinking and his mulling and his overall disappointment. 

She rarely failed to disappoint, however, when not in skill than in general interest. She was a bit of a contradiction- a muggle-raised traditionalist, an impressively violent-minded child with immaculate self control and a seemingly universal good manner, a perfect student with obvious training who claimed to have done nothing more than study. And yet, she didn’t seem to actually be faking anything, not the way he did as a child, wearing a mask over his features as though it were a second layer of skin.

Sure, she was acting, but she was nobility- whatever training she had received had clearly shown her how to apply the proper pureblood airs-, but it was less of a mask and more a filter through which she allowed the world to view her, a filter to make her tougher, sharper, closer to the person she was supposed to be by their standards, just enough to get right in the middle of them all with barely any effort. It was still all her, the kind words and the close friends and the proper manners.

She was fascinating, and he had found that, after the stone of course, the thing he wanted most in Hogwarts was to figure her out, to dissect whatever fabric of the universe made her  _ her _ . Unfortunately, in that moment, that also meant applying his charm and getting out of his pajamas. Though, actually, he supposed, the latter likely didn’t really matter. By the time a few lessons had passed, she was almost exclusively wearing pajamas for their meetings. She claimed that if he wanted to force a lady out of bed at such a ridiculous hour when she had classes the next morning, then he could deal with her wearing whatever she wanted. Her words, of course, not his.

He stretched as he stood, realizing quickly that he had been sitting very still for a much longer amount of time than he had realized.

“Miss Evans,” he greeted, pulling open the door. “Forgive me, I found myself entirely lost in thought, right when we should have been meeting. Please, come in, I was just finishing up a cup of tea, and I’ll find the book with the spells I wished to show you tonight.”

He had been expecting a smile, as it seemed to be her only emotion after ten o’clock, but she only frowned. “I’m not sure I should…”

Should have tea? That didn’t even make sense; it wasn’t as though the girl didn’t drink tea or something else entirely ridiculous and un-British. And it wouldn’t make sense for her to leave, just because he was a bit late. What kind of petty- oh. Right, of course. Really, it was a crying shame that Quirrell had the face of the least trustworthy person alive. “I have no nefarious intentions, Miss Evans, and I’m perfectly willing to make an oath to that effect if it would make you more comfortable. It will only take a minute, and I would rather not be so coarse as to force a lady to wait at my door when it’s my fault she was waiting at all.”

Ah, there was the smile, if a bit shaky. “Alright,” she agreed. “But I’d like a biscuit for my troubles, please.” And there was the smirk.

“Of course, whatever you wish,” he agreed, rolling his eyes as he stepped back to let her in, taking the biscuit jar from the shelf and setting the kettle back on the flame. Magically heated tea simply wasn’t the same; it was something he stood by. An issue of principles, really. Other wizards never seemed to really understand that. “Now,” he continued, pretending to ignore her as she took a biscuit from the jar and then three more after it, “today, I was thinking we could work on using transfigurations during a duel. I hear from Minerva that you’re quite the prodigy, more of a natural than even your father, if you don’t mind my mentioning him.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she mumbled, before seemingly scolding herself for the lack of confidence and adding, “though it is a magic that comes quite easily to me, I will admit.”

“Do not be ashamed of your skill,” he demanded softly, turning to face her from where he stood, even if she couldn’t see him at that angle. It was the worst mistake he had ever made, that insecurity, even if he hid it. “Humility is not the choice to be dishonest about your talent, only a reminder not to expect your superiority in one area to bring along with it superiority in all things. And the second mindset is far preferred to the first, if I may voice my own opinion. A witch must know her worth for that worth to grow.”

Her pleased blush was a rather pleasant reminder that he hadn’t actually  _ lost _ his charm, even in the most revolting form he had ever taken. Even the somewhat serpentine form he had adopted by the end of the war was preferable to  _ Quirinus Quirrell. _ Even the admittedly fucked up version of said serpentine form that had resided on the back of Quirrell’s head since he had possessed him would be preferable. At least it was fear-inspiring.

“Now, I was thinking we could try the spell  _ incarcifors _ . Read this chapter on it,” he ordered, handing her a book with a page marked with a slim black velvet bookmark. She took it immediately, holding the book in one hand and a biscuit in the other, the tea he had poured her sitting in its saucer balanced precariously on her knee, and he almost worried about it slipping right off her satin sleep set to spill, but she sat so perfectly still that it was almost a bit disturbing.

“Etiquette lessons meant balancing a really rather obscene number of objects on every part of my body,” she answered the question he realized he must have spoken aloud, not looking back from the book. “It’s been six years- I can balance perfect spheres on my head. I can dance with a pile of books weighing down my skull. I’m not going to drop your teacup.”

“That’s quite the relief,” he replied, the gears of his mind whirring with possibility. He had known of muggle girls who would take etiquette lessons, or had taken them before getting to the orphanage, at least. Was that all she referred to? Or did she mean she had actually received proper training for her position in society? But, if what she claimed was true, she hadn’t entered the magical world until early that summer when she got her letter, so she couldn’t have started training at seven. There was, of course, always the possibility that she was lying, and what a delicious possibility that was. That she had not, in fact, gained such impressive control of her magic in one summer, and was, in fact, extremely prepared, and had been since a young age.

“I like this spell,” she announced suddenly. “It’s interesting. The concept of using different things to make restraints. It claims that if you focus on the object becoming a rope or similar binding, then it will, but I have to wonder if you tried a different focus, could you make a binding out of the original material itself? Like could you turn a branch into vines or roots that would wrap your opponent? Could a window become a glass encasing?” She hadn’t given even an ounce of attention to him, despite being the one to ask the question, instead tracing the wand movement for the spell in the air with her finger.

His eyebrows shot up as he took a seat across from her, holding his own fresh cup of tea, as the last one had gotten cold. “I have no idea,” he admitted.

She just shrugged and waved the hand with the biscuit dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll just have to try it. Besides, what if it turns out to only be possible if you don’t believe it to be impossible, so you answering my question would actually eliminate my capability to do it at all?” 

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

She shook her head sagely, the tea not even sloshing in her cup. “I can’t take that chance.” She flipped the page with a finger, checking to see if the passage continued, which it didn’t. She then closed the book and leaned over to place it on the edge of his coffee table, and it was really inhuman the way she could move so comfortably without even jostling her body itself. He knew he was probably paying more attention to it than he needed to, but he had truly never seen anyone with such a ridiculous level of physical control. It was no wonder she was such a natural at duelling.

“Try it,” he demanded, realizing there was nothing else to do in that moment. “Cast it on me.” He drained the rest of his tea. “Make me a set of porcelain restraints, see how long they hold.”

“You’re sure?” she checked, and wasn’t that just adorable, the way she actually appeared to be worried, by the creases in her forehead, worried about him, when she herself was the only danger in the room. The irony would never cease to amuse him.

“Why don’t you try before that changes,” he replied drily, which only made her raise a brow at the offer, her eyes lighting up as they tended to do whenever she was given a challenge.

Her movements as she whipped her wand from its holster and aimed it at him, or his cup, at least, were quick as a single flash of lightning on a stormy night, the kind that one would watch out the window for as a child, trying to catch a whole flash, thunder and everything, but a single blink had snatched it out of their grasp. “ _ Incarcifors _ ,” she cast, and the her eyes may have been bright but they were unyielding, the harsh but curious confidence he had only ever seen so strong on her. 

And, as he really should have had expected a good bit more than he had, a moment later, he was bound in his chair by thick bands of porcelain. It had even kept the pattern as best it could in its current shape, white on one side, black with thin white florals on the other. 

He held frozen for a moment before his instincts kicked in, wandlessly dispelling the transfiguration and returning his teacup to its former glory, which was far less glorious than it had been before, now that he knew what could be done to it.

He glanced over to see that her face had fallen. “What the hell more do you want, child?” he snapped, a bit sharper than he had intended, but, really, she had just had him bound to a chair. “Your theory was correct, your spell succeeded-”

“I didn’t expect it to wear off that fast,” she admitted, watching her wand as she spun it between her fingers, letting little greek sparks float out of the ends as she did. 

Wear off? “You stupid child, your spell didn’t wear off; I dispelled it because I didn’t actually have much of an interest in remaining bound to my chair,” he replied incredulously. “Bonds of pure porcelain aren’t actually comfortable, you know.”

“Why in Gaia’s name would I need to know that?” she shot back, looking at him as though he were the stupidest person alive. Honestly, he had killed people for less than such an offensive expression. “But good,” she added. “I was quite worried.”

“Obviously so.” He cast a  _ tempus _ , revealing the time to be only a half hour until one. “Merlin, it’s much later than I had realized.”

Her brows shot up at the displayed by the now drifting smoke- and her tea  _ still _ didn’t spill through her surprise- and she disentangled her legs from the position they had been in, one reminiscent of a pretzel, he thought with amusement.

“We can work on using that spell in a duel on Thursday,” he told her as she was walking back over to the door to get back to the dorms. “Trophy room at ten, like usual.”

“Sounds good,” she agreed, shooting him a pleased smile. “Don’t forget, please.”

“I won’t. Now go, you have class tomorrow.” 

He watched her leave, the dance in her step a bit more evident than usual, and found himself smiling fondly as he shut the door behind her. What was he doing? Dark Lords did not smile  _ fondly. _ Especially at a child who had just had him in literal bonds, bonds made of his own possessions, only minutes before. He needed a drink, and something much, much stronger than tea.

It was when he was on his second glass of whiskey that it occurred to him that he hadn’t given her the usual note he would supply at the end of their lessons, just in case she ran into anyone. Whatever, he figured, it wasn’t as though it were likely that she would actually get caught. It wasn’t as though she was spending her time chased by Filch or something of the like.

Meanwhile, Lavinia was sprinting like hell through the halls, checking around corners and pressing herself against walls, trying to evade the stupid caretaker and his little demon cat, who would actually be quite cute if someone cared to brush her and she wasn’t currently trying to get Lavinia caught out after curfew.

She took a turn down the narrow staircase on her left, sliding down the railing as Auntie had taught her years ago, just to save time, and of course, to eliminate any sound of footsteps that could echo. She was, however, left in a hallway with very few doors and no stairs. At all.

She was about to just pause, sit down for a breath perhaps, something her lungs were begging her for the same way a man’s throat cried for water in the desert. She had no idea how far she had run, really, but whatever it was was only made worse by the fact that she was breathing as quietly as a human being possibly could, and sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her. But then, of course, as things simply couldn’t go easily in her life, she heard Filch’s crooning voice, saying something she couldn’t quite make out to his cat, just in the staircase.

Taking off at a sprint, she tested each doorknob as quietly as she could, before she shook one just a little too loud and Filch’s voice stopped sharp.

_ Fuck _ . And she didn’t say that lightly.

“ _ Alohamora _ ,” she cast, hoping it would work, and, shockingly enough, it did. She pulled the door shut behind her as she pressed her back to the door, her eyes closed and her heart pounding as she heard the footsteps approach her and then pass. She didn’t even open her eyes until they were so faint that she had to strain to even hear them.

And what a mistake that was.

Before her was a dog, some sort of Mastiff, she believed, but fluffier than the one that Lucy’s grandparents owned, an honestly adorable dog, really, or it would have been, had it not been at least two or three times her height and possessing three heads.

Yeah, a bit less adorable when she thought of it like that.

It towered over her, heavy ropes of slobber hanging from its knife-point teeth, easily the size of the better part of her forearm. What the everliving  _ fuck _ was that thing doing in her school? 

She scanned her surroundings as quickly as she could, mostly curious if the dog was restrained in any way, which it didn’t appear to be. It was, however, sitting on some kind of trap door, and the rest of the walls were black. In hindsight, she was sure, she would simply be upset that the poor dog didn’t even have a toy to play with. It was no wonder it looked so inriled- excited?- by human contact.

But that  _ really  _ wasn’t the relevant thought at the time. One last look and she bolted. It was best to put things like that right out of her mind. It was best to tell herself it was nothing but a nightmare, and maybe, one day, she would believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter got a bit away from me, if I'm being honest, but I'm okay with that because guess what! This fic is now longer than the first Harry Potter book. And I'm very pleased about that, personally.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed, and please let me know what you thought!! You can also find me on tumblr at venus-ink, and I'm also answering questions there, along with posting teasers of chapters, headcanons, polls, etc.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters and books and idiots- and really, that's a summary of her life at this point, isn't it.

_ Dear Auntie, _

_ I hope you’re doing well, and please pass my love to Yvonne and the others, as I hope you’ve been seeing them lots and lots now that I’m away. It marked three months apart from you last week, and I’m not ashamed to say it bothers me far more than I wish it did. I really miss you rather terribly, and I think it’s why I prefer to stay so busy that I can’t think about it. _

_ Hogwarts is strange, and stranger by the minute. You’ve always been kind about the magical world, and I appreciate that, but I don’t think I was ever really quite prepared for just how different it would be, even with the lessons. They have made a world of difference, though, and I really must once again express how grateful I am for them.  _

_ I believe I’ve mentioned that witches are traditionally pagan, though the Potters are not, and over Samhain (Halloween, that is), Draco, Daphne, Marcus and I performed the traditional rites. Which, if I may mention, are technically illegal. Yes, the traditional ceremonies for the traditional religion are technically outlawed, and I’m luckily not the only person to realize just how strange that seems. I hadn’t realized the extent of the internal tug-of-war within the magical world until now, when I’m living in it. It’s as though there’s two entire worlds in here, or maybe just the real one and then an in-between. One world is the one I’ve learned, of course, and the ones my friends have grown up in, with lots of magical music, and the nice kind at that, and fancy magical foods, all the manners that took me years to get even close to perfecting, the magical clothing as natural as anything else. _

_ The strangest part for me, really, is just how much I like it. I think, in a way, Hogwarts always seemed somewhere between a fairytale and an assignment to me. There were the parts I would daydream about- the magic itself, the castle-, and I wish you could see the castle here, because I think you would really love it. I think the whole thing is alive sometimes. But when I wasn’t daydreaming, I think, I would consider it just another job, another thing I have to do- and have to do perfectly. I am near the top of my year, I believe, and of course I’m extremely busy between all my classes and extras, but it’s really only now hitting me that this is my entire life as well. And, stranger still, I don’t think I much mind it. _

_ On the topic of lessons, if you don’t mind, I’ve attached my work for the classes I’m taking long distance, and I was hoping you could mail them for me. Hera gets a bit confused by the number of post boxes. _

_ Classes are still ridiculously interesting, even the ones where I mostly already know the material the professors are covering, though I hadn’t really covered this bit of the material yet, so it’s starting to get a bit more fun than before. Transfiguration is still my favorite, and Professor McGonagall has a lot to do with that. I think you’d really like her, honestly, Auntie. I hope you get to come up to visit at some point. We’ve been learning about conjuring recently, and just yesterday we learned how to conjure butterflies! I hope I’ll get a chance to show you at some point. Potions is still a bit painful to sit through, if I’m being honest, as I have never seen a teacher show quite so much favoritism. Even the Head of Gryffindor isn’t that bad, but at least the class itself is fun- it’s somewhere between chemistry and cooking- and Draco’s been helping a lot with any part I don’t understand. There seems to be a potion for everything, which is amazing, but it also makes any sort of memorization incredibly hard. I could go on about the theory, but I don’t think a word of it would make sense. It’s fun working with Quirrell one-on-one, but I’m a bit conflicted, and I’ll tell you about that in a moment. _

_ I really hope you can come to see one of my quidditch games, as well. The whole thing is a bit ridiculous, what with actually flying on brooms and everything, but I’ve actually gotten quite good at it now that I’m practicing most everyday. Who would have guessed that I’d go off to magic school and join their sports team? Not me, certainly, though I think Lucy will get quite the kick out of it. Our first game is next weekend, my house against Hufflepuff, and I can’t wait to tell you all about it. _

_ There’s also a few strange happenings I’d feel better if you know about, though I don’t believe there’s going to be much you can do about it... _

“You mean to tell us that there is a  _ three-headed dog _ in the school, right now?” Draco was asking.

Lavinia took a sip of her tea, the cinnamon apple sort of brew that she had stolen from Quirrell’s office before she left last week’s lesson. It was really very lucky that they’d learned both water conjuring spells and heating spells, because she would have been  _ miserable _ out in the november chill to enjoy lunch without tea. “Mhmm,” she agreed, not looking up from her book.

It was a rather obnoxiously sizable tome, one that had been shoved in the back of one of the bookshelves in the common room, collecting so many layers of dust that she felt as though she were uncovering some sort of ancient fossil from the earth, a creature no one had seen for millions of years. In reality, it was probably more like a hundred years or so, but the book was so old that it didn’t even have any sort of publication information, and just turning a page could make her sneeze. 

“Evans, I swear to Merlin if you do not put that book down,” Pansy warned.

She huffed, pulling one of the ribbons from her hair to use as a bookmark and setting her book beside her on the rock by the pond that she had unofficially claimed, then set her tea on top of it. “What do you wish for me to say, Pansy? I was out at lessons a few weeks ago, I ducked into the nearest room to avoid Filch which, yes, turned out to be in the right-hand corridor of the third floor, and yes, there was a real live Cerberus in there. It’s taller than our ceilings and takes up the better part of the room and could  _ definitely _ kill us all if it wanted to. What else is it you want from me?”

“Maybe some bloody emotion,” she shrieked, her open hands flying up about her face frantically. “Merlin, Evans, it’s like you don’t care about anything. There’s something  _ in this school _ that could kill us all, and you’re just sitting there on a rock reading your stupid book about knitting without a care in the world.”

Her jaw was clenched so tightly she wondered if her teeth might crack. “Of course I care,” she forced out, certain her patience sounded sarcastic. “You have my full assurances that I am deeply disturbed by the current goings-on in this school, and my full concern is for the student body. However, as I’m not a bloody idiot, I have no plans to go near that room again, and thus do not care what the Cerberus is guarding as it has no effect on me. The happening that disturbs me far more is that our Defense teacher, the one who I spend hours alone with in the evenings, is likely possessed, and, as that actually puts me in possible direct danger,  _ yes _ , I am reading my book on possession.” Her face dropped into her hand. “Why do you even care, Pansy? Why are you even here?”

“I was invited,” she shot back defensively, leaning back against Draco’s chest and wrapping a hand around his arm, glaring at Lavinia.

“Draco, why did you invite her?” Pansy didn’t even  _ like _ her. Why did she suddenly want to eat lunch with them? She usually just hung out with Millicent and Tracey, and all the others in their year who had decided they didn’t like Lavinia either. 

Draco was still staring at her with an incredulous type of horror. “Quirrell’s  _ possessed _ ?”

“The Cerberus is guarding something?” Daphne asked with a frown. “You didn’t mention that part, Lavinia.”

“Didn’t I?” she asked, glancing up from the pages. “Oh, well yes, it was sitting atop a trap door. It could just be guarding an area of the school, but I find that hard to believe, so I figure it’s guarding something valuable. I find myself a bit lost as to why something so valuable that it requires a Cerberus to protect it would be hidden in a school full of children, a good third of whom are encouraged to seek out dangerous situations in the name of heroism and another quarter are recklessly curious. It’s all awful management, really, but we already knew that. I feel like I should do something about it all.” She tilted her head in consideration but shrugged slightly. It would take more time and work than she had to offer, not to mention that the success of an entire school really shouldn’t have had to rest upon the shoulders of a thirteen year old.

“I wonder what Dumbledore’s hiding,” Daphne mused.

“Maybe that’s where his brain is hidden,” Draco offered wisely, tossing a pebble into the lake, sending ripples across the still water.

“Ah, of course,” she agreed.

“Why do you think your teacher is possessed?” Pansy cut in, and her patience could have been cut with a dull pair of children’s scissors. “Not that he’s not strange, of course, but I think possession might be a bit far.”

“Have you heard him stutter since a few weeks in?” Lavinia asked instead of really replying. “Supposedly Quirrell’s had a stutter all year, and even before that, when he taught Muggle Studies, he was jittery and nervous all the time. Is that the professor we’ve had?”

Pansy frowned, the deep creases in her forehead more pronounced than Lavinia had seen before, and she was really somewhat grateful that the girl was taking it seriously, though that clearly said a lot about the type of world they lived in. “No,” she said finally. “He hasn’t stuttered once during class. But he stutters in front of the other teachers and at mealtimes. He’s probably just nervous around crowds, not possessed.”

Lavinia shook her head. “No. We’re the  _ only class _ he doesn’t stutter during, the only class he isn’t timid through, the only class learning duelling technique instead of getting rambling lectures about vampires. I was talking to my friends in another house, and other years, and no one else is seeing the one we’re seeing.”

“Still…”

“And there’s this thing,” she added after a moment of hesitation. “I noticed it a few weeks ago but wrote it off. When he’s about to drop the stutter, like fully drop it, and his voice  _ really _ changes… his eyes flash  _ red _ , Pansy. Not the pale blue like usual. His entire demeanor changes, his speech patterns. That’s not  _ normal _ . And I don’t think it’s him.”

“So you’re looking for- what- monsters?” Daphne asked. 

“No. This book I’m reading says that only a wizard can possess another wizard, either through incredibly powerful and dangerous, not to mention usually unsuccessful, magic, or in the form of what’s essentially a non-corporeal ghost. I’m just looking up how to confirm that he is possessed, and what I can do about it.”

“What do you  _ want _ to do about it?” Draco asked.

“Well,” she said matter-of-factly, “either I have to send the drifting soul back to the otherworld or into its actual body, should it actually be the magical route, or I have to find a way to make the other soul a new body. Or something like that. This book is in, like, Middle English or something, so it’s a bit iffy at times. And I’m only halfway through.”

“Why would someone possess some random Hogwarts teacher?” Pansy pressed. 

“Probably for whatever’s currently being stored at the school,” Draco piped up, and Lavinia felt like taking the book and smacking it directly against her head because  _ Circe _ , how had she not thought of that?

“What do you think it could be?” 

“Nothing we’re investigating,” Lavinia cut in. “Really, there’s nothing to gain by putting ourselves in unnecessary danger. We’re Slytherins, not Gryffindors.”

Pansy huffed, “Slytherins can be curious as to what exactly we’re risking our lives for here. Right, Dray?” she asked, looking up at him.

He was quite pink at that, and didn’t seem to want to meet Lavinia’s eyes, despite the look she levelled at him. He would always go on and on about the essential Slytherin things, and he couldn’t even back her up on the fact that a Slytherin wouldn’t just rush headfirst into pointless danger? He was acting so strangely, she thought. 

He just stuttered some non-committal sort of reply. And now Daphne was sending her knowing looks. What did she  _ know _ ? Lavinia sighed. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t worth her time. She had things to research. And things to research. And things to research.

It never seemed to end.

“We ought to get to History,” she said instead, checking her watch. “Class starts in fifteen minutes.” She stood and brushed off her robes, offering her arm. “Daphne? Walk with me?”

“Of course.”

Once they had gotten out of earshot the other girl spoke up again. “Pansy was really acting quite herself today. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“I just wish I knew why she hated me so much,” Lavinia grumbled. “I don’t much care if she likes me or not, but I wish I knew  _ why _ . Instead she just glares at me like she wants me dead, and tries to question literally everything I say. And now she’s trying to bring Draco into whatever she thinks is between us, and that doesn’t seem particularly kind. To him, that is.”

“I mean, it really is all rather obvious,” Daphne replied, a bit surprised.

Lavinia wracked her brain but came up short. “Clearly not obvious enough,” she told her friend drily. “Would you care to enlighten me?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” she teased. “You’ll figure it out in time.”

Lavinia huffed, but trying to weasel information out of Daphne never worked as it was. She could gossip, certainly, and she would, but when it came to secrets she promised to keep, whether she promised someone else or herself, her lips were sealed and the key was probably somewhere all the way in America or something. “How long have they been friends?” she asked, changing the subject, if slightly.

“Oh, forever and ever,” Daphne dismissed. “The Malfoys and Parkinsons have an age old alliance, so they grew up together, really, a bit like Tracey and I, just closer. Probably knew each other in diapers. Draco has no siblings, of course, and Pansy just has Andrew, and he’s- what- ten years older? So they’ve got that kind of relationship where you can hate each other as much as you want, but you still love each other, you still some back to each other. It’s really quite sweet, even if they can be a bit insufferable in each other’s company.”

Well, that explained it then. Draco had probably felt bad about not including his best friend, not to mention just missing the time spent with her, and she was upset that she might have been losing him to Lavinia or other friends. It was no surprise she didn’t like Lavinia, really, knowing that. She would pretty well be upset, too, if suddenly Lucy and Colleen were spending all their time with someone else and didn’t even think to invite her.

Then she frowned, processing the rest of what she had said. “What happened between you and Tracey?”

“Oh, we’ve never gotten along all that well,” Daphne informed her. “We have some… differences of opinion, I suppose, and they’ve always gotten between us. It was nice, of course, to have a friend going into Hogwarts, and it’s certainly not as though we’ve ever hated each other, but we’ve each found our own friends now, and given her rather unnecessary distaste for you and our friendship, I didn’t see much value in hers.”

Daphne had chosen her over her lifelong friend? How had she not noticed the two girls growing distant at all? Lavinia laid her other hand over the one Daphne rested on her arm and smiled, hoping her friend would understand her gratitude without her having to voice it.

“It’s alright,” her friend assured her. “I’m only friends with you for the History notes, as it is.”

“Love you, too, darling,” Lavinia shot back, rolling her eyes as they slipped through the half open door to the History of Magic room. Binns, of course, was just floating by the board, still rambling about something or other. She wondered if he actually fully understood class times or not. Did ghosts understand time? Did they start off understanding time, but lose the ability as time went on? Was it testament to just how old Binns was that he couldn’t hold a conversation or stop a lesson on time?

She would have to find a book on it.

It was a few minutes until Draco and Pansy caught up with them, around the same time as the rest of the class, or those who chose to show up, at least, began to pile into the room, forming little groups and pairs as they wished, pulling out other homework and journals, with the exception of the Granger girl, who was probably prepared to copy down every word out of the man’s mouth.

She was really very smart, Lavinia mused, pulling out a journal and a pen and jotting down the date. She had an almost obscene recollection of everything she had read, with the capability to recite a page of a book on demand as soon as she was called upon. She probably had some of the highest overall marks in the year, really, but Lavinia was pretty sure she was winning between the two of them. She was lucky enough to have the lessons that covered how to answer questions perfectly, balancing quotes and theories and opinions and outside knowledge. It was one of the first things Lady Miera had taught her, deciding that she simply refused to teach someone who couldn’t answer her questions properly. And it really was her own good fortune and privilege that got her those lessons, but she had never come across anyone, in all her school years, who preferred to not give any information but the textbook itself in their answer, even when prompted.

It had all led to teachers preferring not to call on her, for, as smart as she was, her answers would just be the book that sat in front of each student, and often so much of an answer that it would cover the questions they wished to ask from other students. It clearly upset her quite a lot, however, and her hand would wave in the air with every question, even though the teachers almost never requested volunteers.

Lavinia was jealous of her memory, though. She remembered the material from things she studied, and she could remember things a person had said to her if she had found them important at the time, but that was about all. They had both chosen to study in advance upon entering the magical world, but where she had studied the world and culture itself, Granger appeared to have just studied her books. Though it wasn’t as though she knew her, so she supposed she couldn’t be sure.

Oliver knew her, though, and she was seemingly now best friends with him and his Weasley friend, who she supposed she should probably think of as something other than just “Weasley” as she herself had Weasley friends. Their newfound friendship only fed to the confirmation of the rumors that they had fought a troll together, and, seeing as not a single teacher had mentioned anything about defeating a troll, it seemed honestly pretty reasonable.

The only teacher who’d had any aftereffects of the troll, now that she thought about it, was Quirrell, or whoever was actually in there. He’d had a limp.

Which, now that she thought about it, seemed like something one could get from a run-in with a three-headed dog.  _ Circe _ , did she have research to do. And fast, before he did something stupid like steal whatever was in there. Especially if his idea of stealing something included releasing trolls into Hogwarts.

Binns was talking about another one of the Goblin Wars, one from the thirteenth century, and honestly, she couldn’t help but feel offended deep down at his inability to follow any sort of chronological pattern with his lessons. Granger appeared to feel the same way, but the scowl may have just been her natural face.

She took the notes anyways- she couldn’t really do much else, not when her grade in charms came from Daphne, at least- and when the period was done she couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of relief. She knew it sounded ridiculous to say, seeing as she was quite literally at boarding school, but classes were really one more thing she didn’t need. Especially classes taught like History of Magic. Maybe she should apply for self study the next year? Was that even an option?

The Hogwarts management was an absolute shitshow, really, and she wondered if anyone had ever even thought to file any sort of lawsuit against them for reckless endangerment. Surely releasing a troll into the school and having a whole bloody Cerberus in a corridor that wasn’t blocked off by anything but instruction counted as recklessly putting a whole shit ton of children into danger. She ached to do something about it, she really did, but in the end it was nothing that couldn’t be put on hold, and nothing she had time for.

But it was unlikely that Hogwarts would stop being absolutely stupid, so she was sure she’d get a chance the next year, or perhaps the one after that. She knew, technically, she didn’t actually  _ have _ university applications to worry about, and, as an Heiress to a Most Ancient and Noble House, she likely wouldn’t ever even need a resume, if that was something witches even had do do, but she had no clue how to tame the instinct to fill her years with fancy sounding accomplishments around the school. Maybe she could even start a student government. Did Hogwarts have a school board?

Questions never seemed to have answers in the magical world, at least not ones that were easy to find. She sighed. Most schools had a website, or at least a pamphlet. Hogwarts had an incredibly vague letter sent out each year that told you whether or not you had gotten expelled and what you needed to spend your money on that year. Ridiculous, really.

She would have to put such thoughts on the back burner, she decided firmly, doing her best to shut down that train of thought. She already had enough to research.  And possibly an  _ extremely _ dangerous professor. Who she had lessons with in ten minutes.

_ Shit _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go!! This one is a bit shorter and took a bit longer than I intended, and I'm sorry about that one- I broke my streak of having at least one chapter out every two days :(( However, this is because I scrapped my entire book one plan and started over fresh. This meant a lot of touching up to the chapters I already have done, and just,,, so much planning. So much. I also redid my overarching plot for the series, though that's mostly going to affect the later books.
> 
> So, I hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you thought in the comments (they're writing fuel, I promise), and check out my tumblr at venus-ink!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And... it's game time!!

“How’re you feeling?” Draco asked, leaning across the table to push food towards her.

“I already ate,” she reminded him, pushing the loaded plate back towards him. “I go down to breakfast at six; I’m only here now to keep you all company.”

“And you’re insane for that,” Daphne agreed evenly. “But that was almost five hours ago, and your game is at noon. At least have some toast or fruit or something.”

“Fine,” she conceded, rolling her eyes internally at her friends’ overprotectiveness. “Marcus, pass the bread and butter, please."

He did, of course, but he also gave her a look loaded with a bit more concern than she was used to from her quidditch captain. “Go light on the food,” he warned. “Especially with the stunts you like to do. I don’t think you’d enjoy it very much if you got nauseous in the middle of the game, not to mention the embarrassment for yourself and, really, all of us, as well, if you actually threw up in the air.”

Oh, well that was  _ exactly _ the type of pep talk she wanted to hear before her first quidditch match. She didn’t need a ‘you’ll do great!’ or a ‘you got this!’, nope, she just needed an order not to embarrass the team by vomiting on the audience. She tried to shoot a glare at him, but really, she knew he meant well, so she couldn’t conjure much heat for it. “You’re like a mother hen sometimes, Marcus,” she told him instead. “But, like, a real bastard of one, you know that?”

“Love you, too,” was his snarky response before he turned back to his friends, and Lavinia couldn’t help but cover a smile with the back of her hand.

“Oi, Evans,” called a girl a few seats down. “You’re playing today?”

“Yes, I am,” she confirmed, leaning around Daphne to see who was talking and smiling when she saw Travers. “Higgs has found himself, erm, indisposed as of yesterday, and is still unable to leave his rooms.”

“And you’re doing your duty to the team and the House by stepping in ever so nobly to take his place?” Travers supplied with a smirk.

“But of course. I wouldn’t dream of leaving our poor team- our poor  _ captain _ , what with all his hard work- lacking a skilled seeker, not when there’s something I can do about it. What kind of Slytherin would I even be able to call myself?”

“Just eat your toast, Lavinia,” Daphne interrupted, nudging her with her elbow to cut off her friend’s theatrics. 

“If you insist, darling,” she allowed. “I hope to see you at the game later, Travers.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

The toast tasted like cardboard. But, like, delicious cardboard. Okay, she clearly needed to eat something. And calm down.

Quidditch couldn’t be that bad, not really. As seeker, she barely had to actually do anything anyway, just find the snitch and stay out of the way of the bludgers. She didn’t have to interact with anyone else on the team even. Not to mention, the Hufflepuff seeker, Diggory, while good, was, from what she had seen and heard, less competitive, or perhaps just less ruthless, than Marcus had taught her to be. Marcus had once praised her for giving him a bloody nose on her way to the snitch- she had no qualms when it came to ruthlessness, and it was a trait the whole team appreciated, even if they gave her strange looks and preferred to keep a safe distance.

She cleared a small plate of fruit after that, and she and the rest of the team rose for the last few minutes of pre-game practice, the rest of the table smiling and calling out assurances and excitement for their upcoming victory. Daphne joined them, walking to the pitch with Lavinia, her Slytherin scarf and gloves matching Lavinia’s quidditch robes, and Draco followed behind, talking to one of the chasers. Lavinia still wasn’t quite sure why she was supposed to wear robes, as it really seemed like such a thing would just slow them down on brooms, but she had to appreciate the aesthetic value of everything in the magical world, so she figured it was best to simply go with it. 

It was the perfect day for a game, sunny but not blinding, chilly but not uncomfortable, though the dew getting into her boots wasn’t particularly fun. The whole team was restless, messing with their brooms as half of them hovered a few feet in the air, and Lavinia itched to do the same, but Terrence’s broom was in the storage shed under the Slytherin stands, and she couldn’t very well go run and get it when Marcus was lecturing them.

“Alright, team,” Marcus addressed them, running a hand through his hair, and she wasn’t sure if he was as nervous as he looked or if he was attempting to look cool and not doing a very good job of it. “Slytherin has a four year streak right now, and we’re going to make it five. We’ve trained, we’ve trained a lot, and we  _ can _ do this. I’m also not giving any of you a choice- we  _ will _ do this. Montague, Pucey, you remember what we practiced?”

The two boys nodded.

“Good. Pritchard, Selwyn Junior, you two ready? You’re up against Martins and Boutin, and I swear those two are practicing every minute they spend together that isn’t in bed.”

“Yep,” one of the girls replied fidgeting with the end of her broom. “You know we’re good, Marcus.”

“I do,” he agreed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t have to check. And at least one of you should keep an eye on Evans, understood? The rest of us have years of practice dodging bludgers; she’s got a bit over two months.”

“Understood,” they chimed.

“Petrova, they added Burke to their chasers this year in place of Johnson, and she’s actually pretty good; I’ve played with her before. Other than her, you should be fine. If you don’t do better than Lysenko, I’m going to be so deeply shocked and disturbed right through to my soul that I may just drop dead and it’ll be your fault. I’m assuming you haven’t actually lost a hundred percent of your skill in the last week?”

She sent him an unamused look. “I’ve been doing better than Sacha since we were seven; I think I’ll be fine. I’ll watch out for Burke, but you three are too good to let them get the quaffle anyway. Quidditch is mostly sitting still for me at this point, Marcus, and you know it.”

“That’s fair. Evans,” he said finally, turning to Lavinia and setting his hands on her shoulders. She gulped. “Catch that godsdamned snitch or die trying, got that?”

“Yessir,” she agreed, shoving one of his hands off of her arm to give him a loose hug, causing the entire team to stare at her a but strangely. “I got this.”

“I know you do,” he told her, reaching to muss her hair but only getting his hand batted away. 

“These braids took me thirty minutes, and you will not mess them up,” she warned him. 

“Why would you spend thirty minutes on braiding your hair?” he asked incredulously, not trying to touch them again. “Like actually, what’s the point? I’ve braided mine and it still never takes more than a couple minutes.”

“Thead magic,” she answered promptly. “But with hair. I read about it in a book that I’m mostly sure is from the middle ages, and it’s actually rather fascinating how-” she cut herself off. “That’s not the point. I have no clue if they’re going to work; nothing I’ve tried when knitting has worked so far. But supposedly the knots are good luck, so we’re going to see if they do anything. And some of them will keep my hair from coming undone while I’m flying.”

He blinked. “I’ve never heard of that in my life,” he admitted easily. “But I suppose it can’t hurt. Alright, everybody, we have twenty minutes. Get into positions, we can practice for a bit, just a light game. Evans, go get your broom.”

She was ready to go and get it when a shout had her turning back. 

“Lavinia,” Draco called again. “Would you come over here for a second?”

She jogged over to where he waited in the stands, cursing the mud from the previous day’s rain as her shoes stuck to every stair. “What is it?”

“I wrote my parents a few weeks ago, telling them you were seeker and your game was coming up and everything,” he explained. “They had heard from the school about the incident in flying classes, so they had asked me all about that day already.”

“I told them, too,” she interrupted, not unkindly, but a bit impatiently. 

“Yes, yes,” he rushed to agree. “But I asked them to, erm- well, it’s easier to just show you.” He reached under the seat he had been sitting in, and pulled out a broomstick, rich polished wood with silver bands around the handle. “It’s the Nimbus 2000, the newest model on the market. I know first years can’t technically have brooms, but Father’s on the board and he talked to Professor Sinistra and everything, and she’s given you permission to have it. And I know it’s a bit sudden, it only arrived this morning, see, and-”

She cut him off with a tackle hug, making him stumble backward and almost fall, if not for the seat he rested one of his hands on as he used the other to hug her in return, his face growing redder by the second. 

He seemed so awkward that it almost made Lavinia laugh. They had been friends for months, and she had hugged him before, of course, but every time she did it seemed to so completely shock him that it was honestly quite funny. She supposed it was an etiquette thing, as ‘don’t tackle people who give you nice things’ was probably such an obvious rule of conduct that Lady Woodward had never seen the need to cover it, but she figured such things could be overlooked in the right circumstances. And the right audience, like the current lack of one she had at the moment.

She pulled away long enough to really look at him. “Thank you,” she told him earnestly, hoping he understood just how much she meant it. She grinned. “And wish me luck.” She kissed him on the cheek and flew off, the new broom a hundred times better than Higgs’ one, and she spun a few flips in the air just to get a feel for it.

“Marcus,” she shouted, the broomstick vertical with her legs squeezed tight around it as she spun in tight pirouettes with her hands up and her head back, feeling the cold shock of the wind on her face, and it felt like freedom. “Look at my new broom!”

He had glanced over at first, figuring her theatrics were just a result of her general demeanor in quidditch, but had to do a legitimate double take when he realized the broom she rode had never belonged to Higgs. “Is that a Nimbus 2000?” he asked, his jaw dropping in amazement. 

She grabbed the handle with her left hand, leaning to the side so the overly responsive broom would bring her over to the Captain. “Yes, sir,” she confirmed. “The Malfoys gave it to me; it just arrived this morning.”

“Do you have a feel for it yet?” he asked next, and she could tell it was taking extreme levels of self-control to stay on the topic of the game, rather than badger her about the broom and why the Malfoys got one for her. “I mean, I’m sure it’s an amazing ride, but if you’re not used to it, it could hurt your game.”

“I think I mostly have it,” she told him. “But I’m going to go practice a few laps and dives before the game. And you mentioned wanting me to wait a bit before catching the snitch so we can get more points, so I should have some time at the beginning of the game to practice my stunts.”

He nodded, letting his almost giddy expression peek through. “You’re going to  _ crush _ Diggory,” he told her. “Your talent with that broom? I doubt there’s anyone who could beat you. And the stunts,” he added after a moment. “Stunts like the ones you pull are good for throwing the opposing seeker off their game, and distracting them from yours. He’ll see how good you are and get nervous, and no one will be actually looking for the snitch, so make sure you can multitask.”

She nodded, filing away everything he told her into the mental folder of quidditch and hoping it stuck. She knew stunts, or at least how to mess around on a broom in a way that seemed impressive, she knew distractions, she certainly knew how to play to the audience, so if all worked out like Marcus seemed to think it would, then she would be fine.

She flew a few laps around the pitch, weaving through the stands and around her teammates as the rest of the school started to file in to fill the stands for each house, the Hufflepuff stands almost overflowing and the Slytherin ones surprisingly full for the disproportionate number of students in the House. 

There were still fifteen minutes or so until time would actually be called for the game to start, so she flew down to the Slytherin stands where her friends filled the first row, and saw Lord Malfoy and Aunt Narcissa beside Draco, the light glinting distinctively off the family’s matching platinum hair. Honestly, were Lord and Lady Malfoy related or did they just share a box of hair dye? Because it was uncanny how similar they all looked.

She pulled her broom to a halt before them, letting the Slytherins send up cheers at her arrival. The way students only seemed to rally together for sporting events was just as strange to her in the magical world as the muggle world, but she certainly wasn’t going to be upset that her House supported her, even if it was just for an afternoon.

“Lord Malfoy, Aunt Narcissa,” she greeted, bowing as best she could while balancing on her broom, which she figured was probably still much better than most people could achieve. “It’s lovely to see you again. And I’d like to express my sincere gratitude for the broom; I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“No need, no need. Consider it a gift,” Lord Malfoy replied mildly, and Lavinia figured it was more likely that he was simply disinterested than it was that he was in a particularly giving mood. Besides, it was probably pocket change to them, wasn’t it. Technically, it would be for her as well, or the Potters at least, but she hadn’t gotten fully accustomed to the idea that she actually had large sums of money at her disposal, nor did she have much of an interest in testing the limits of the Potters’ generosity when it came to their vaults.

“It’s nothing at all, I assure you, dear,” Aunt Narcissa added. “You’ve made the Slytherin quidditch team, and as a first year no less; I think that warrants a bit of celebration, and a proper celebration always comes with gifts. It was our pleasure, really, wasn’t it Lucius?”

“Hm? Yes, yes, our pleasure entirely.”

“See? Nothing to worry about at all, darling,” she assured her. “Now, Draco tells me you’re practicing rather obsessively, is that right? Do make sure to take care of yourself, you know. Quidditch is all right and lovely, but you can’t win a game when you start it exhausted.”

“I’m doing alright for myself, ma’am,” Lavinia replied, almost laughing at how she was lying through her teeth. “Quidditch is only a source of relief what with all the stress of classes. And you get used to Marcus’s schedule. Mostly. Did either of you play quidditch in school, Aunt Narcissa, Lord Malfoy?”

“Merlin, no,” Lord Malfoy scoffed, and a less composed man would have shuddered, but then he noticed the look his wife was giving him. “Erm, not that I can’t appreciate a good game, of course, and I’m sure this will be one.”

Lavinia bit back a smile. “And you, milady?”

“Why, certainly,” Aunt Narcissa replied, a glint in her eye. “Why do you think my darling Lucius attended a single one of those games back at Hogwarts? I was one of the Slytherin chasers, third year and on.”

“There was a pushback at the time against women in sports, a ridiculous thing, really,” Lord Malfoy added. “It’s among the reasons why I’m glad we were both in Slytherin, as the traditionalist crowd never bought into all that, and it was then that I really fell for my lovely wife here,” he told her, sending a fond smile at Aunt Narcissa that she immediately returned. “I remember once a boy, a Gryffindor I believe, attempted to tell her she shouldn’t be on the team at all. Threw a quaffle directly into his nose if I remember correctly.”

“It was really quite satisfying to hear it snap,” Aunt Narcissa agreed, resting one of her gloved hands over her husband’s with the most innocently pleasant smiles Lavinia had ever seen on anyone. “I think your Captain is calling you, dear,” she added, gesturing past Lavinia. “Good luck. We’ll be cheering the loudest, I assure you.”

“Thank you, Aunt Narcissa,” she said with a smile, glancing back and realizing that yes, Marcus was indeed trying to get her attention, and immediately flew back to his side, shooting a smile over her shoulder at her friends.

“Welcome, welcome,” boomed a voice from what felt like all directions, a voice that Lavinia was pretty certain belonged to one Lee Jordan, the twins’ best friend, as the two teams hurried to assemble on either side of the pitch.

“Welcome to the first game of the Hogwarts quidditch season, Slytherin versus Hufflepuff,” Lee announced. “Slytherin has a four year streak for the quidditch cup-” He was interrupted by the rousing cheers of the Slytherin stands. “Yea, yea, we get it you guys. And I’m sure we’ll all continue to feel the devastating loss of Charlie Weasley every time the Snakes get the cup.”

He cut off there for a moment as Professor McGonagall had leaned in to tell him something from where she sat beside the announcer’s podium. 

He nodded once before hurrying to continue, “Right. I’ve been instructed to inform you all that Charlie’s not dead, to be clear. He graduated. Just graduated, not dead. Okay, to continue. We have Hufflepuff headed by Sacha Lysenko as keeper, with  Laura Madley, Camila Burke, and Josiah Murray as chasers.” 

As each name was announced, the team members called let their brooms take them to the ground, assembling in the traditional formation with the Captain at the tip of what would become a sort of triangle, with the seeker on his broom about ten feet above the center.

“And finally,  Basil Martins and Mathis Boutin as beaters, and Cedric Diggory as seeker,” he ended in a shout over the applause from the overwhelming majority of the stadium, even the Slytherins clapping politely. Lavinia wondered if the other Houses would show them the same respect.

Diggory was staring at her, likely having expected to see Terrence Higgs in her place as the Slytherin team was called down to the pitch. He was rather attractive, she mused absently, in the golden boy kind of way. Not her usual type, really, but still quite pleasant on the eyes.

“And finally, Agatha Selwyn and Greta Pritchard as beaters, and today’s seeker… Lavinia Evans,” Lee shouted, a rather unwarranted level of enthusiasm as the cheers she received, while impressive for the small size of Slytherin House, were certainly not too loud to announce over at a normal pitch. She couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture, though, as she flew down to meet Diggory across the pitch.

“Now, if our Captains would shake hands- kindly, men, kindly and politely, I mean you, Flint- then we… can… begin!” he cried, and Madam Hooch blew a whistle so loud she just knew the woman took a hidden pleasure in deafening the crowds. “And Pucey has the quaffle! Hands it off to Montague- ooh nice steal, Burke- it’s no mystery why they added her to the team, her first year playing, this is, very skilled, and very lovely, too- no offense!- a bit scary, she is- and back to Slytherin with an underhanded steal from Flint-”

Lavinia decided to tone him out at that point, letting his voice fade into the screams of the crowd at each pass and catch, a rather tedious type of sound but a beautifully distracting one as it faded into background music that rose with each flip she performed.

She ran through a few of the warm-up stunts she did with Marcus in the mornings, which already appeared to have quite the response, both from the audience and the other team, though the latter was far less positive. She paused after a few more spins, glancing around a little more pointedly for the snitch, but it was nowhere to be found, and Slytherin was only ahead by ten points as it was. Marcus had told her not to go for it until they were at  _ least _ fifty in the lead.

She decided to try a few stunts that she hadn’t done before on a broom, but really weren’t all that different from some of the more adventurous dance moves she had done in the past. She wrapped her left hand loosely around the top of the handle and looped her left knee around the bottom, her foot fitting snugly underneath the metal and began to swing herself in circles as she let the broom take over and loop around the pitch, spinning with her when she began to lose momentum and relied on her ability to keep her body stiffly in position.

The whole world spun in lovely little circles as she danced, maneuvering her body around the broom as she would on a dance floor, ground over sky over ground over sky over ground over-

“And ten more points to Slytherin!” Lee was announcing rather dejectedly as a bludger hurtling at her broom snapped her back to the present as she threw herself sideways off her broom to dodge it, hanging from her broom by one knee like she had practiced. 

From her upside down position that she realized actually placed her right near the Slytherin stands, she could see her friends quite clearly, probably could have shouted to them if it hadn’t been so loud, and she saw Aunt Narcissa leaning forward to watch the game, her eyes wide in rapt attention and the closest thing to a grin on her lips that Lavinia figured she’d ever see on the woman. Daphne looked a bit bored, a bit concerned, but perfectly pleasant and interested as she tended to do. The absent thought drifted through her mind that she looked a bit like an angel right then, her hands, bundled in the ends of her Slytherin scarf, resting under her chin and her golden hair was backlit in a way that resembled a halo, just a little, as she fought to get one hand free so she could wave, a smile tugging at her lips in exasperated amusement as Lavinia pulled a face, scrunching up her eyes and nose and sticking out her tongue as she waved back.

Lavinia hid her giggle, and certainly did  _ not _ have to hide a blush, by swinging back onto her broom and finally giving a real lookout for the snitch, as the score had gotten up to a hundred and thirty points for the Snakes and only sixty for the Puffs. 

Careful to make sure she wasn’t obvious in her attention, she decided to attempt to ride her broom like a skateboard. What could go wrong, right?

“And if we look up at Evans,” Lee was saying, as, supposedly, the actual game had gotten a bit tedious, “we’ll see a thirteen year old currently practicing ballet on the handle of her broomstick. Lavinia Evans, everyone, please give her your applause and your prayers for her life! Oh, and now she’s on one foot. Merlin, how is anyone so bloody flexible, goddamn- sorry for cursing, Professor… No, Professor that comment was not of a sexual nature… No, Professor. Sorry, Professor.” She could almost  _ hear _ the eye roll.

“And alright, we’re back! Slytherin is… back in possession, you bastards. Flint passes to Pucey- wow, Selwyn is actually really good with a bat- even I thought that was going to hit him there- and Lysenko… almost blocks the quaffle. Come-on, Puffs,” he beseeched them, so deep into melodrama that Lavinia was actually quite impressed. “ _ I _ believe in you, right? Doesn’t that count for  _ anything _ ?”

Luckily, practicing her first level routines on her broomstick, while quite tricky for the first couple steps, was surprisingly much easier than she had expected, though that was probably thanks to the whole semi-sentient surface she was performing on, which would move to meet her steps as needed, assuming she didn’t do anything drastic. So she had let herself fall into the familiar motions while she searched for the snitch, and she had been watching it for about a minute before she decided to go for it. 

She could see Diggory’s eyes on her, and she was ready to curse at the luck that was his full attention exactly when she was going to try to win the game.

Crouching slowly in a way she figured could probably be mistaken for another stunt, she waited until he glanced away and shot towards the snitch like a rocket, her robes flapping behind her like a superhero cape.

She didn’t feel all that heroic, though she couldn’t help but feel dramatic as she started the high-speeds chase for the snitch, going so far as to lean over her shoulder to wink at Diggory, just for the drama of it all. 

Really, if the battle for the special fancy golden object didn’t include a few loaded winks and maybe even a smirk here or there, what kind of story was she even trying to tell?

She could see the snitch to her side, and the itching feeling told her it would fly down next, tricking them into missing it, and a plan formed in her mind. 

She flew a tight loop, taking the long route to just turn to the right and not even caring to stifle her laugh as he followed her, getting right up behind her even on his older broom.

And it was time for the plan to begin.

She stayed flying level, letting him get close enough that he could grab her broom if he really stretched, squeezing her legs as tight as she could around the broom as she let go with her hands, unclasping her robes and slipping her arms out of the sleeves one by one and praying to whatever goddess was listening that she wouldn’t just look like a fool.

Though, she figured, there were worse things for a girl to be. She could only hope she was a fool who wasn’t about to embarrass herself in front of thousands of people.

She undid the last clasp, and her robes flew from her body, revealing her highly aerodynamic muggle athletic outfit, and they flew directly into Cedric Diggory’s face.

_ Perfect. _

She pulled the broom to a dive that was almost perfectly straight down, and she couldn’t help but let out a blood-curdling shriek of a whoop as she flew towards the snitch as it tried to escape. 

_ Oh, no the fuck it did not. _

It had soared to the side and she could see it coming back, and if it all worked correctly, then…

Yes. 

Oh, Circe, it was going to work.

Pushing off her broom like it was the side of the pool and she was a ten year old whose dignity had just been challenged, she plummeted towards the ground at what really should have been a terrifying speed.

It was exhilarating.

She tried to keep her body as flat as she could, locking her pointed feet at the ankle and keeping her outstretched arms close to her head. 

Her muscles ached from the tension, and her ears were ringing from the sheer volume of the wind at that speed, but she couldn’t even notice it. 

The snitch was glinting, it was gold, it had no right to glow like the sun itself was encased in the metal, not when it was only a ball trying to escape her grasp.

No, she remembered thinking briefly. Something so lovely should be  _ hers _ .

She was flying, she was, there was no way to put it but that. She could have sprouted wings in that moment just to feel that way forever, let the feathers pierce through her skin until they were stained red with her blood just so she could soar that way forever.

It was only in that moment, her fingers only a breath from the snitch, her body shadowing the light reflecting off the wings, that she finally understood Icarus, risking his young life, his deep-set values, those of his heart and his fatherland, to fly for the brilliant sun, his own wings letting him control the flight she could only now get the weakest taste of.

She, too, would risk her father’s eternal grief, though perhaps not Auntie’s, she would decide much later, to have such an opportunity, to touch the sun with her own fingertips, even if she burnt alive or sunk deep into the sea, disappearing into the water the same color as the sky it reflected until all that remained were the feathers scattered on the sea, to feel the soft breath of Apollo’s kiss even if it meant she would never live to tell the tale. 

Her fingers closed around the snitch, the wings fighting to break through from between her fingers as she did her best to drag her body into something akin to a spread eagle pose, parallel to the hard earth beneath her as her broom flew down to reach her, Cedric Diggory, surprisingly, ahead of it, his hand outstretched, even once he must have noticed that the snitch was already taken.

“Evans,” he shouted over the wind, gesturing at her. “Hold on, you bloody idiot.”

She stretched her arm towards him as far as it could go, and it was sheer skill that kept him from falling off his broom with the way he was leaning off of it. 

It was a few moments until he finally got close enough for her to clasp her hand around his wrist, him doing the same to her as he pulled his broom back into an upward position so she wouldn’t fall all the way to the ground, and by then, her own broom had caught up, and she grabbed onto that instead, swinging herself over it to sit side-saddle style as it lowered her the rest of the way to the ground.

Bloody thing was supposed to be the best on the market, but couldn’t even catch up with Diggory’s broom? Maybe the Hufflepuff determination could actually force the broom to speeds it wasn’t supposed to actually go.

She wouldn’t be surprised.

They landed at the same time to the cheers of the entire stadium, and Lavinia raised her fist high up in the air to reveal the glinting snitch as Lee announced the scores, three-hundred and thirty for Slytherin and ninety for Hufflepuff.

“You’re a bloody idiot,” Diggory said wryly. 

“Yes, so you’ve said,” Lavinia replied through the perfectly posed smile she was flashing as the audience.    


“Well I’m saying it again,” he told her through his own, turning to the Hufflepuff stands to a loud round of cheers. “You could have died.”

“Would not have,” she sniffed. “Probably would have cracked an arm on the landing if you hadn’t caught me- thank you ever so much for that, by the way- but my broom was only a few feet behind you. It’s not like I would have actually died. I’m sure the school nurse can set a broken arm. Besides, Marcus said to catch the snitch or die trying.”

He was opening his mouth for what she was sure would be an absolutely biting retort when a body crashed into her from behind, lifting her off the ground until she was balancing on someone’s shoulders.

“You’re amazing,” Marcus was rambling as he jogged a loop around the pitch, Lavinia staying posed on his shoulders, a dazzling smile towards the stands and her fist in the air. “I mean, I knew you could do it, I’ve seen you do it. But still, that was  _ spectacular _ , Evans.”

“It’s Lavinia,” she chided for the millionth time.

“Nah,” he dismissed. “But, Merlin, the way you threw your robes in his face- Selwyn has them, by the way- I never would have expected it. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone do that before.”

“I do like to be something of a trendsetter,” she agreed mildly, searching for Daphne and Draco in the stands and finding them standing on their seats to cheer. “Marcus, darling, the photographer is in front of our stands. Can you stop there?”

He did as she asked, and didn’t question when she used his hand as a boost so she was standing on his shoulders, his broom in his right hand and the snitch held tight in her left as the cameras flashed around them.

“Why are there so many of them?” she asked through her smile. “It’s just a school game.”

“They’re from different teams,” he replied, his consonants a bit mumbled through what she was sure was a delightfully stoic expression. “This is how they scout the student population for new recruits. And a few reporters like coming here for fun, or to run stories in magazines. And there’s usually one here just in case something amazing happens. This, actually, might count, but it’s unlikely. It’s more for school disasters and management stuff they can critique.”

“Ah, thank you.” 

That was certainly interesting. She had no interest in professional quidditch, she didn’t think so at least, but it was still exciting to think that the scouts had seen her at all.

“The party starts as soon as we get in, you know,” he said after a minute. “You think you want to go? Slytherin’s going to want to congratulate you.”

She sighed as he helped her get down off his shoulders. “Sure. But you know, Marcus? Right now, I just want a godsdamned shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know how to write sports or particularly enjoy doing so? No. Did I write 6k of sports? Yes. 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought, what you liked, what you didn't, etc in the comments- they're writing fuel, really. 
> 
> And go check out my tumblr at venus-ink! I'll answer any and all questions, theories, rambles, etc!!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea with Tom, late night walks with friends, possibly dangerous magical objects- what more could a girl want?

“Do you realize how foolish that was yesterday, child?” Tom asked her, handing her a cup of tea as she waltzed directly into his office at ten-thirty and plopped into the chair she had essentially claimed over the past few weeks. After she’d had another run in with Filch, they had agreed that they would meet in his office and he would walk her back to the Complex whenever she had lessons, and it was almost disturbing how quickly she marked her territory in his space, though she looked strangely uncomfortable, just as she had the past few lessons, equally at home but not in the least bit relaxed, alert almost to the point of a bit skittish in her own understated way. He had never had someone who was so at home in every space they entered. “You could have died from falling that far- it was _needlessly_ foolish.”

“I would disagree,” she denied evenly, sipping her tea and looking annoyingly proper in her matching lilac satin night set. “It was a calculated risk and I chose to take it.”

“Just how calculated?”

She sniffed, shifting slightly in her seat. “Somewhat.”

“I see,” he replied, the sarcasm creeping into his tone. He took his seat across from her and set his own tea on the table. “Perhaps you should reconsider your disposition towards calculating risks that could kill you, child.”

She looked at him with one dark brow raised, an assessing sort of glace, before she turned back to the biscuit he hadn’t realized she had taken. “No, I don’t think I will. Marcus said to catch the snitch or die trying, and I’m not going to back down from a challenge like  _ that _ , and you should know that better than anyone.”

And Merlin, did he ever. The girl would do anything if her dignity was questioned, if her skill was downplayed, if someone double-dog-dared her on her grandmother’s grave. She seemed to have very few motivations other than that delicious thirst to prove herself, and all it took was a raise of the brow for her to jump to the bait and grow more invested in the task than he ever needed her to be. If someone implied that she wasn’t usually trying as hard as she should be, he didn’t have to imagine how she would react- clearly she would tap dance a hundred feet in the air and then attempt skydiving without a parachute.

“I suppose so,” he allowed, taking an old journal from the shelves and tossing it to her. “You’re learning  _ Concrescruor  _ next. Find and read the passage; it’s rather short.”

“Not a man of many words, are you?” she muttered, clearly not expecting a response, so he didn’t dignify her comment with one. “Blood thickening?” she asked instead, opening to the table of contents and running a finger down the page as she looked for the spell.

“Indeed,” he replied, mildly impressed at her guess.

“I’ve taken Latin since I was four,” she explained absently, setting her tea on her knee so she had a hand free to wave at him dismissively. “I’m effectively fluent.”

“What primary school even offers that?” he asked, bewildered. He had started learning Latin around his third year at school so that a wider range of spells and texts would be available to him, and he was obviously quite skilled at it by the time he was ninety, but didn’t know many people who started before he did.

“None of them as far as I know,” she told him, finding the entry and flipping to its place about halfway through the book. “I got a tutor. Auntie decided I was getting annoying when I didn’t have things to do, so she signed me up for things to keep me busy. Latin was one of them.”

“Mm,” was his non-committal reply, letting her read the passage in peace. 

_ Concrescruor: Blood-Thickening Spell. _

_ The blood-thickening spell, Concrescruor, along with its inverse, Conlucruor, cannot be accurately classified as either a curs _ _ e, a charm, or anything else. This is mainly because of its multiple purposes and the recent popularization of each individually, rarely with the full understanding of the connection between them. The incantation is a simple one, the Latin for “to thicken, coagulate” or for “to thin, specifically in regards to pruning” and the Latin for “blood, especially that of a wound”, and it keeps the meaning surprisingly vague. Because of this, the spell was discovered for two entirely separate purposes at two entirely separate locations, at right around the same time in 1973, and so the magic held in the incantation is split perfectly evenly between the two paths. _

_ The first of these paths is for the spells to be used in healing. Naturally thin blood can be caused by many medical issues, and is a symptom of many infections or chronic illnesses, along with being a side effect of many healing spells, such as the bone-resetting charm, potions such as the bone-regrowth potion and the pepper-up potion, if taken in large doses or over a long period of time, and other treatments. The issue can also cause many problems alone, such as easy bruising and a difficulty in blood clotting, which can cause even a minor wound to bleed for an extended period of time, and a major wound to be more deadly than necessary. For these reasons and others, the blood-thickening charm can be a necessity in healing, and easily partners with other healing spells that have blood thinning side effects. Thick blood, on the other hand, can be a factor for heart disease, causes light-headedness and problematic blood clots, and is a symptom or side effect of several serious illnesses, one being Dragon Pox. And so, a blood-thinning spell can save lives, and is part of the most recently accepted treatment for Dragon Pox. In these cases, Concrescruor and Conlucruor are considered charms. _

_ It is in the second of these paths that these spells truly fall into the realm of curses. While the charms were discovered by a German healer, the curses were used most famously used by the Dark Lord and his ranks, starting around the same time, though some sources claim that the Dark Lord had been using these curses for years before the charm was discovered and only allowed this usage to get out around the same time as the charm was discovered, but the public understanding of the charm balanced the private usage of the curse, splitting the magic in an equally effective manner. This theory is less likely, given the extreme coincidental value necessary for the correct amount of power used for the curse versus the charm by the time it was discovered; there is, however, no absolute proof of either theory. The curses are used most commonly in duels, as it is there that the higher power levels are available for these curses to be the most effective; however, a mass usage of these curses can weaken the enemy long term, and often go unnoticed by the victim until it is too late and the effect has taken hold. _

_ There are no known counterspells to these spells, and instead the inverse spell is often cast to balance the first cast. The wand motion (pictured below) is best described as a vertical infinity sign with disconnected ends, or something reminiscent of an uppercase cursive letter ‘L’. The blood-thickening spell has a saturated violet color when cast, and the blood-thinning spell has a weak red or pink. The effects, of course, are clear from the names. _

She set the book on the table when she was done reading and frowned, picking it back up and skimming the passage again. “Was this written by a muggleborn?” she asked suddenly.

His jaw tensed. “No, it was not,” he replied, barely moving his lips. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, it’s handwritten, or I think it is,” she said, still frowning at the book instead of meeting his gaze.

“It is.”

“So either it’s a first edition sort of thing that got published later, and you just happen to have the original- which I don’t think is the case because there’s no edits or anything, and there’s no title or even mentioned author- or it’s the only copy at all, and it’s just someone’s personal journal,” she guessed.

“You’re close,” he told her, a foreign sort of fondness creeping into his tone. She sounded so much like he did at her age, though he hadn’t had anyone to talk to about it, instead only pouring it into his diary or keeping it in his head. “It was a journal, that you’re correct about, though I suppose closer to a grimoire, but it was meant to be a published book.”

“A friend of yours?”

He pulled a smirk onto Quirrell’s face, a little amused sort of thing. “In a sense. But why do you say muggleborn?”

“Well, now that you mention the rest, I’m going to guess that a pureblood would have been able to get it published,” she replied, pausing for a moment before continuing as though she was considering saying something more on the topic but chose not to. “But mostly because of the way the author speaks of illness. The muggle world is a good bit more advanced on that front, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it is,” he mused. “Without magic available to them, they’ve turned to all sorts of other methods.”

“I suppose that may be the factor,” she agreed. “The author here is quite specific on the science, even if it’s a very short entry, and spends only a few lines on the magical component, and that doesn’t strike me as the view of one who grew up with magic.” She shrugged. “I could be reading it entirely wrong, of course, or it could be an author who grew up in the magical world but spent time in the muggle world, or just had an interest in muggle science. Or I just haven’t actually read any magical medical texts and have no clue what I’m talking about.”

He considered how much to tell her, but in the end he supposed it didn’t much matter what she knew. “My friend grew up in the muggle world,” he confirmed. “Not a muggleborn, but muggle raised. A bit like yourself.” Was that laying it on a bit too thick? Ah, well, she was young; she probably didn’t look too closely into little comments like that.

She only smiled, and he sighed internally in relief of being right once again. “That’s cool,” she said, sounding quite earnest, and the slip back into casual language showed her honesty. “I wish your friend could have gotten their book published.”

He hummed something non-committal. How was he supposed to reply to  _ that _ ? “What do you think of the spells?” he asked instead, changing the subject.

Her tone was wary, but her eyes were brimming with bright interest. “Are you teaching me the charm or the curse?”

“I’ll teach you the spell,” was all he chose to say, slowly, carefully, and the look in her eyes was almost hungry. “And you can decide for yourself.”

“Perfect.”

_________

“You know,” Daphne was saying, “it’s really quite infuriating how good you are at this class.”

“You’re the only reason I’m even passing,” Lavinia countered, her eyes on her brother as she shot the softening charm at his textbook as discreetly as she could. “It’s just that we’re Slytherins not Gryffindors, so you help me  _ before _ class, rather than during, or, Hekate forbid it, after.”

“Yes, well maybe I should stop,” Daphne replied drily, taking her graded essay back from Professor Flitwick as he passed them back and scowling at her ninety-seven percent mark as Lavinia smirked at her ninety-nine. “The point of helping someone isn’t to make them do better than you, you know. You’re supposed to accept your second place score with dignity, Lavinia, not claim the first.”

“Oh, so perhaps I should stop sharing my History notes,” she shot back, sending another spell at Oliver’s inkwell. “Fair’s only fair, after all. And I’m only doing better because I have absolutely mad essay writing skills. I know far less about charms than you do, and it takes me forever to get them to work. It’s why you earn more points in this class than I do.”

“I do,” she agreed, sounding a bit smug at that. “I still wish you’d be just a little less perfect, though.”

“Besides, if you didn’t help me, I wouldn’t be in second,” Lavinia added. “I’d be in fifth.”

Daphne frowned, letting out a puff of a laugh. “Why fifth?” she indulged her friend.

“You, Oliver, Granger, Padma Patil,” she counted off. “I couldn’t beat any of you without the extra practice. I would, however, beat everyone else, because I can write the best papers in our year. And that counts for a lot in a first year class since we’re still mainly covering theory.” She saw Oliver lean across his desk to talk to his Weasley and she pointed her wand at his quill under her desk. “ _ Spongify, _ ” she cast under her breath, waiting a few seconds before dying with laughter as he attempted to write with the quill and it spilled his ink all over his desk.

“You’re in quite the curse-happy mood this morning,” Daphne observed, softening her desk and then spelling it back again, over and over. “Any reason?”

“Just blowing off some steam,” Lavinia replied, keeping her voice even and innocent. “Besides, it’s not even a curse- not even a jinx or even a hex- just a charm. The  _ assigned _ charm, I might add.”

“Yes, but I’m not very well going to ask why you’re in such a harmless-charm-cast-with-moderately-malicious-intent happy mood, am I?”

“I certainly hope not; you’d sound quite the fool.”

“I’ll have you know I never sound a fool,” Daphne informed her, frowning and softening Lavinia’s quill so she would drop it, then putting it back again. “I can say even the most ridiculous of things with the utmost dignity.”

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” she challenged her friend.

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” Daphne repeated primly.

“Holy shit, you really can.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

“Never, darling. Only of needing my History notes too badly to leave me to my own devices here in Charms.”

“And I suppose you would be correct,” Daphne sighed. “But you didn’t answer my question. I’m assuming you still haven’t heard from the Potters?”

Lavinia shook her head. “Not once,” she confirmed. “Nothing about the sorting, nothing after the troll incident, nothing at all. And it’s not even that I particularly  _ want _ to hear from them, but I feel like they should still have written. I think.”

“They certainly should have,” Daphne agreed. “Even my aunts and uncles wrote me in the first month or so, even the ones I haven’t seen in years. Rather basic letters, the impersonal type, you know, but it was still quite sweet, and it gave me the opportunity to get back in touch with a few members of my extended family. And what with Yule Break coming up, you would think they’d at least send something.”

“That, at least, I’m glad they haven’t. I would die if I had to go back to the Manor for Yule, not to mention that they don’t celebrate. But I don’t think I have a way of getting back to Auntie’s either, not with how they left things. I don’t know if it would be safe for her.

“Are we talking about Break?” Draco jumped in, crossing back to his seat from where he had been standing at Crabbe and Goyle’s desks to help them with the charm. 

“Yes,” Daphne told him. “Lavinia doesn’t know where she’s going for it since she still hasn’t heard from the Potters.”

“She’s spending it at Malfoy Manor, of course,” Draco informed them rather pompously, even as he kept his attention on the book he was softening.

“Since when?”

“Right now. And also since summer, I believe. Mother’s quite insistent.”

Lavinia bit back a smile. “I would be honored to accept your invitation, should you care to offer one, Heir Malfoy.”

“But of course. Do you require a proper invitation in writing, or is word of mouth enough?”   


“I suppose I can settle for spoken word, seeing as we’re dealing with a rather short time frame.”

He inclined his head and came to where she sat primly of the edge of her desk, her right leg crossed over her left and her hands folded neatly, and he gave a shallow bow before her, kissing her proffered hand. “Heiress Potter,” he addressed her, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “would you do my family and I the honor of gracing the Manor with your presence over the upcoming Yule Break, and of attending the annual Malfoy Yule Ball?”

“The honor would be mine in its entirety, Heir Malfoy,” she accepted. “I extend my gratitude to the Malfoy family for the gracious offer.”

“That’s good that you’re going to the ball,” Daphne cut in. “My family will be attending as well, of course, as will Theodore’s, Pansy’s- most of the Slytherins, really, and a good portion of the others.”

“Do the Potters attend?” she had to ask, glancing at her brother across the room and shooting the charm at the middle of Weasley’s chair and holding back a giggle as he squirmed in his seat.

“Merlin, no,” he denied. “They’re invited, of course, as they are a Most Ancient and Noble House, but they haven’t attended since your great-grandmother was reigning Lady. Anyway, the Yule Ball is a costume ball, so Mother’s already gotten you an outfit, though she refuses to tell me what it is, so I can’t help there. And Father will pick us up from the school on the Monday at the start of break so we don’t have to worry about the early train on Saturday.”

“Perfect.”

“Lavinia, turn Weasley’s chair back,” Daphne interrupted, grabbing her wrist.

“ _ Aspongify _ ,” she muttered, waving her wand in the bottom to top sort of S. “ _ Aspongify. _ It’s not doing anything.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Daphne sighed, flicking her wand in Weasley’s direction. “ _ Aspongify _ .”

“Mister Weasley, there is nothing wrong with your chair,” she heard Professor Flitwick tell him. “It’s just a chair, nothing more.”

Lavinia looked back to Daphne, both girls trying to hide their laughter as Weasley continued to splutter an excuse for taking the professor’s attentions. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Daphne only straightened, turning back to her work and pointedly ignoring Lavinia’s dancing eyes as she replied, “I have no idea whatsoever as to your meaning, I assure you.”

She watched her friend for a few moments before turning back to her own assignment, scribbling notes for her essay as she cast the spell on her inkwell and turned it back. “Sure you don’t.”

________

Lavinia spent the last few days before Yule Break reading. 

She had checked out every book in the school library that dealt with possession, and, as she wasn’t allowed to bring books from the library out of the school over break, she had made it her mission to read them all before she left and to take notes on them to look over at the Manor.

Quirrell’s- or more, she supposed, whoever it was who was possessing him- mask had been slipping more over the past week or so, and it was starting to get a bit worrying. Not-Quirrell had been showing clear lapses in memory of any time that Quirrell was the present mind, and regular Quirrell didn’t seem to have any memory of giving her lessons at all. She had informed him at dinner the other night that she would be leaving for Break and therefore would not be able to attend lessons, and the stuttering man had only told her that all classes were cancelled during break, before the stutter broke and a far more charming sort of expression took over his face, telling her to have a lovely break and that they would pick back up where they left off when she got back.

She was trying her hardest, she really was, not to show that she noticed anything wrong, but she was sure it was coming off suspicious, the near constant smiles she forced, even through the transitions in who she spoke to, the stiff relaxation in her form as she lounged in his office in the evenings, the jitter that had forced its way into her tone as of late. She found herself almost dreading time spent with her favorite professor, as she really did enjoy the company of whoever it was who was really in there, and she just wanted it to be over. She wanted one thing,  _ one thing _ , to be easier, to stop going wrong, like everything seemed to be doing.

And, unfortunately, that meant that she had to be the one to fix it, because it appeared that no one else would. Bloody idiots. She flipped to the next relevant passage. 

_ Chapter Twelve: Possession and Morality _

_ To speak of possession through the lens of morality, we must first turn to our own history, and more specifically, our own tales, the ones passed through the younger generations to their own children, growing warped and welded with each retelling. It is said that the character of a kingdom can be known by its tales, and I fear that ours is no different, as much as it pains me to say. We see in stories the values of a people, which aspects of culture it wishes to romanticize, which are taken for granted, and which it wishes to ignore or cover. Our kingdom is one which has, from the beginning of known records, written and oral alike, has chosen all of the options previously listed in regards to possession…  _

“Didn’t she have a different book earlier?” Pansy was whispering from where the trio stood in the corner near the entrance to the common room, watching Lavinia who was curled up in a plush green leather chair-and-a-half, her usually neat braids coming undone and her clothing rumpled around her. “I could have sworn it was a red one, now it’s black.”

“Yes, she did,” Daphne agreed, her lips pursed, and she shook her head. “I worry that Quirrell may not be possessed at all at times.”

“What do you mean?” Pansy asked.

“That it’s in her head,” Draco spoke up, a tired sort of sigh escaping his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, not tearing his eyes from Lavinia. “That she’s imagining it.”

Pansy frowned. “I don’t believe she’s crazy.”

“No, no, of course not,” Daphne rushed to assure her. “More just that she’s… seeing problems where they are none,” she tried to explain delicately. “That she’s getting a bit obsessed with the idea that something must be wrong- and the idea that she has to fix it- that she’s seeing possession when there’s some far more mundane explanation.”

“Exactly,” Draco agreed, grateful for Daphne’s clarification. “It could be because of, you know,  _ them _ as well- taking her mind off one thing and putting it on another full force, you understand. I think getting to the Manor is going to do her a lot of good, really, and the ball as well. She’s getting obsessive.”

“I’ll give you that,” Pansy conceded. “But I still don’t buy the insanity plea. She’s a bit unstable, sure, and quite infuriating, but not delusional. And everything with Quirrell… well, it  _ is _ worrying, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Daphne replied, sounding like agreeing with Pansy was the very last thing she had any intention to imply. “But, really, I’m a bit more worried about the Cerberus issue, are you not the same? Quirrell hasn’t hurt anyone, regardless of if he’s actually Quirrell or not, but a three-headed dog guarding something so valuable that they wouldn’t just stick it in Gringotts is worrying, not to mention dangerous, you really must admit.”

“I agree,” Draco spoke up. “I think we should find out what it is that Dumbledore’s keeping in this school, even if only so I can tell Father.”

“I suppose we shouldn’t tell her, should we,” Pansy remarked, jutting her chin towards Lavinia. “She can only take on so many projects at once. I think I might have actually been worried about her if I cared.”

Draco scowled. “Well, I care. And I agree, she shouldn’t take on anything else. I mean,  _ Morgana _ , does she even sleep?”

“No clue,” Daphne and Pansy chorused.

“She’s up at four some mornings to practice with Flint, her lessons with Quirrell  _ start  _ at ten or later, and usually on week nights,” Daphne filled in. “When she doesn’t have practice, she’s still up to dance or do her muggle schoolwork- no clue why she does  _ that _ , by the way, it seems entirely useless- and she still looks just as or more put together than the rest of the year. It’s disturbing.”

“I don’t even know if she’s human most days,” Pansy agreed solemnly. “She seems to have endless motivation; I mean, doesn’t she ever just want to take a nap? Or just lay down and think about nothing?”

“I don’t think it’s motivation,” Draco denied, looking away from Lavinia at last. “She always talks about being the best at things like it’s her mission in life.”

“Fear of failure,” Daphne supplied, nodding sagely.

“Second place isn’t a failure.”

“It is to her,” Draco told her. “We’ll figure out what the Cerberus is guarding on our own, and we’ll tell her if it ends up being important.”

“Deal.”

“So mote it be.”

They remained there for a few more moments, the silence growing a bit stale, and Pansy began to fidget with the hem of her robes. “I can’t watch her read that bloody book forever,” she finally burst. “Go make her do something else.”

“What would she want to  _ do _ ?” Draco asked, his lips forming a slight pout. “She could lay there reading forever if we let her.”

“Well, we’re not going to let her, so come up with something.”

He turned to Daphne, but she was already crossing to Lavinia’s side. “Darling?” she asked softly. “You’ve been reading a while, why don’t we do something else?”

“It’s after curfew,” Lavinia told her, not looking up from the passage she was reading. 

“Ah, of course,” Daphne replied sarcastically. “I had forgotten all about your deep set issues with breaking the rules, curfews especially. Honestly,  _ Morgana _ , I don’t know what’s gotten into me, imagining that you of all people would leave the common room after curfew.”

It was clear that she could go on for several more minutes if Lavinia didn’t stop her, and she couldn’t very well focus on her chapter with a sarcastic Daphne rambling in her ear, so she placed a bookmark to keep her place and closed the book with a snap. “Fine. What do you suppose we should do?”

“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested, taking up Lavinia’s hand in her own. “Explore the castle a bit- I’m sure there are a  _ few _ corridors we haven’t really found. And it’s my last night before break, so really you haven’t really much of a choice.”

Well, she couldn’t help but have her interest pique at that. She had done a lot of exploring when she had the time, but the school was  _ huge _ and filled with a great deal of passages that either weren’t mapped or weren’t locatable at all, and she never turned down the opportunity to poke around an ancient castle. And she would really miss Daphne quite terribly over break. “Alright,” she agreed. “But only for a bit.”

“Of course,” Daphne indulged her, and Lavinia knew she was entirely ignoring her request. “Up, up, it’ll be fun. I haven’t gotten much of a chance to look around the upper floors, what do you say?”

“I’m up for it. Draco?”

“Of course,” he agreed immediately, and she had to wonder how long they had been planning to snoop around with her.

“Pansy?”

The other girl watched her for a few moments, her brow creased in a slight scowl, before she threw her hands up. “Why not? Let’s go fuck around an old castle.”

“Language,” Daphne scolded her, but the usual heat was replaced by a tinkling sort of lilt. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

Lavinia shook her head. “Let me grab a wrap. It’s getting chilly at night.”

“Grab mine, too, will you?” Pansy asked. “It’s on the couch in the sitting room.”

She nodded, slipping up to the rooms and back in only a few minutes. “Ready,” she announced, handing Pansy her wrap as she slipped her own over her shoulders.

They had to stay rather quiet as they went, of course, but Draco knew a spell that muted their footsteps- and she would really have to make him teach her that one later- so there was one less thing to worry about. They took the stairs on the edge of the Complex up a good many floors, to the seventh or eighth if she was counting anywhere near accurately, and they were all a bit out of breath by the time they reached the landing and finally opted to stop climbing.

“It’ll be easier on the way down?” Daphne offered, smiling a bit sheepishly. 

“Whatever,” Pansy grumbled, pushing past her to get into the hall. “Right or left?”

“We should flip a coin,” Lavinia joked.

“I think I have a sickle, actually,” Draco said suddenly, rummaging in his pockets. “Aha! Alright, heads for right, tails for left?”

They nodded, and he flipped the coin high in the air before catching it back in his palm. “Left it is.”

They continued with that method of direction for a few more turns, but after they got into the second deadend and turned around what had to be the third time, they gave up, wishing to just find one cool place in the castle that wouldn’t get them entirely lost.

“Say, was this door here before?” Daphne asked, frowning at the old fashioned sort of brass knob that her fingers had brushed as she walked.

“I don’t think so,” Draco answered a bit hesitantly, and he went to join her by the entrance.

“Do doors just appear?” Lavinia had to ask. “I mean, I know there’s loads of secret passages, and rooms, but they’re usually either just hidden or you have to do something to make them appear.”

“If you’re so curious, we could just go in,” came Pansy’s inevitably snarky addition, pushing past them to try the handle, which turned with a slight squeak, and the door swung open at her push. 

It was dark inside, the musty sort of darkness of a place that hadn’t seen life in months, if not years, hanging over them in a thick cloud of smoggy emptiness. The room, if it was in fact only one room, was filled with what seemed to be junk, shelves and tables and cabinets, covered with objects she couldn’t quite make out stacked all over them, in no apparent order or pattern, beckoning to be uncovered, observed, studied, and also content to be left alone, perhaps forever.

“Well?” Pansy spoke up when none of the others did. “Are we going in or not?”

“Yes,” Lavinia answered for them all, gesturing for Pansy to lead the way. “Here-  _ Lumos _ .” The tip of her wand lit, a steady, if not particularly bright, light illuminating the room as the door shut behind the group.

“Try  _ Lumos Maxima _ ,” Draco suggested, squinting at an object only a few feet in front of him.

She murmured the incantation, and the light was suddenly bright enough to be almost a bit blinding before it calmed to a warm golden glow that spread through most of the room.

“There’s something over here,” Daphne called softly, her voice echoing through the emptiness.

“There’s something  _ everywhere _ , Greengrass,” Pansy huffed. “This place looks like the official Hogwarts lost-and-found for the last few centuries at least,” she added, flicking the sleeve of an extremely out of date dress out of the space between the two cabinets she was passing through.

“Do you think it actually is?” Lavinia asked, looking to Pansy curiously.

“No,” she said, with all the certainty of a thirteen year old high society girl. “You don’t very well bring your own furniture to Hogwarts, you know,” she clarified, rolling her eyes at Lavinia’s surprised sort of confusion. “It’s probably closer to a repair shop. Everything’s damaged in some way, see?”

Lavinia’s brows shot up as she took in the three legged stools, backless bookshelves, doorless wardrobes, and every other old and roughed up object around her. “Oh, what did you find, Daphne?” she asked, remembering the other girl’s exclamation as she pulled her hand back from a cabinet that felt like it had given her a splinter.

“Not sure,” Daphne replied slowly, and the confusion the other girl allowed herself to show was enough to make Lavinia cross through the tightly packed furniture to where she stood. 

There was a large space cleared around where she stood, which already made it seem suspicious, but before her was some very tall, very thin  _ something _ with a rather mammoth sheet draped over the top to collect dust.

“Draco, Pansy, help us get this down, will you?” Lavinia called, beckoning the others over to them, and they quickly obliged. The four pulled the sheet off, trying their best not to be covered in dust by the end of the experience, and underneath was one of the largest standing mirrors Lavinia had ever seen. Honestly, it was as though it were made for a giant- which, upon second thought, was entirely possible in the magical world.

“I think it says something,” Pansy remarked, pointing up a bit.

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,” she sounded out slowly, holding her wand higher to see the inscription on the top of the frame. What? “That’s gibberish,” she announced. “It’s no language I’ve ever seen or heard, unless it’s a transliteration, but that just seems ridiculous.”

“Nothing I’ve heard either,” Draco agreed, shaking his head and looking away from the words, cryptic as they were, before he whipped around, his wand in his hand and his eyes wide.

“Draco?”

“Who’s there?” he asked, his voice challenging, if shaky. 

“No one,” Pansy told him with a deep frown. “Why do you- oh!”

“Huh?” Lavinia asked, quite unintelligently.

“Oh- Merlin, Evans, check the mirror itself,” she replied in exasperation, and Lavinia wondered for the millionth time if the girl would call  _ anyone _ other than Draco by their first name. She didn’t mind the familiarity others would show her, but she still tended to keep the boundary up for herself.

Sending a final worried glance at Draco, Lavinia turned to the mirror and almost screamed. 

“What the  _ hell _ is this mirror?” Daphne asked sharply, her voice trembling ever so slightly and her wand drawn to match the others.

“What do you all see?” came Pansy’s voice after a moment, a softness in it that Lavinia didn’t think she’d heard before.

Daphne pulled her robes a little tighter around her and sat down on the floor before the mirror, and the others quickly followed her lead. “I see us,” Lavinia whispered, only realizing a moment later that Daphne and Draco had said the same. “What do you see, Pansy?” she asked.

“I’m in that gazebo at the Manor- you two know the one, with all the flowers around it- and I’m with some girl- I can’t really make out a face, but I seem very excited,” Pansy told them with a surprised little smile on her lips, even as the creases in her forehead deepened. “We’re all dressed up, though, and the stars are out. Oh, now she’s- yeah, erm, yes. It’s very lovely, anyway,” she rushed to finish. “What do you see?”

“We’re picnicking,” Daphne replied after a moment of watching the other girl curiously. “Us and a few of my friends back home and my family- even Auntie Drue, which doesn’t even make  _ sense _ \- and a few other people I can’t make out. I think I have a girlfriend, too, or a wife, I suppose- I can’t quite tell how old we are,” she added. “It’s all very peaceful, though.”

“That sounds really nice,” Lavinia told her honestly. “What doesn’t make sense, though?”

“Auntie Drue passed away a few years ago,” Daphne dismissed, “and her wife passed about a year after that. She was my favorite aunt growing up; I’d always stay with them for part of the summers and everything. I wish it was possible to see her again, other than on the sabbats and things.”

Lavinia heard her, of course, but she couldn’t help but focus more on the way she watched the reflection almost hungrily, her eyes locked on the scene the way children looked at their electronics in dystopian sorts of movies. “I don’t think this mirror is good,” she fretted, turning to see Draco stared at it with unblinking longing. “I think we need to go.”

No one reacted.

“We’re leaving now,” she said louder, her voice firm as she tore her eyes from her own display and pulling Daphne up with her as she stood. “We should get to bed. Come on,” she pressed, grabbing Draco’s hand, but he slapped her hand away, quite forcefully even.

“Fuck off, Lavinia,” he shot, his voice rough with emotion.

Lavinia jerked back, betrayal taking over her face. Had he just  _ cursed _ at her? He  _ never _ cursed at her. She couldn’t remember a single time he had said anything rude to or about her at all, in fact, in all the months they had known each other. His language even seemed to break Daphne out of her own trance in shock, and Lavinia’s lip curled. “That’s it,” she snarled. “We’re leaving.”

She learned from her mistakes, at least, grabbing both of his hands that time and pulling him up roughly, Daphne helping Pansy up beside her. 

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa, _ ” Daphne cast under her breath, sending the sheet back over the mirror and effectively ending the spell that had fallen over them. “Let’s get back to our dorms, hm?”

They walked back in silence, not awkward per se, but words rested on the tips of each of their tongues, held in by lips clamped shut and wills stronger than iron in the face of visible weakness.

Daphne left for home the next morning, as did Pansy and rest of the Slytherins in her year, hold her, Draco, and Theodore Nott, who Draco said was likely to stay at school for every break, though he wouldn’t give any further clarification.

A few nights later, she and Draco’s last one, Lavinia was laying on a couch by the fireplace in the common room when Draco came back in, shutting the door ever so softly behind him.

“You’ve been out late,” she remarked, keeping her eyes on her notebook but letting her voice carry to where he stood, seeing him stiffen out of the corner of her eye. “Where have you been going, love?” she asked, softer as he approached her, taking a seat on the stone around the fire.

“Back to the mirror,” he admitted. “It’s hard to resist. What are you working on now? We don’t have homework.”

“We do, actually,” she corrected him. “We have essays for Potions and Astronomy. But I certainly haven’t started it yet. I’m trying to figure out what the words on the mirror meant.”

“Get Theo to help you,” he suggested. “He dies for a good puzzle. He’s probably up, too- I can go get him?”

“Only if he’s up,” Lavinia agreed. “Don’t wake him or anything.”

“Of course not.”

She stared at the words she had written over and over, _ erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi _ , until he returned, the other boy in tow as he adjusted his round glasses and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “You say you have a puzzle?” he asked upon seeing her, his eyes glinting.

She nodded and sat up, handing him the notebook and pen. “It was engraved on the top of a magic mirror we found,” she filled him in, trying to keep it a bit vague. “I’ve been trying to unscramble the letters or rewrite it in different alphabets to see if it makes any sense, but-”

He raised a hand, and she paused. “It was on a mirror?” he repeated after a moment.

“Yes, it was.”

“It’s backwards,” he announced. “Broken up strangely- whoever put it there wanted it to be confusing- but it’s just mirrored writing. ‘I show not your face but your heart’s desire’,” he quoted, handing the notebook back to her.

She just stared. “That’s  _ it _ ?”

He nodded, nonplussed by her accusatory tone and lack of proper thanks. “That’s it. Cool puzzle, though,” he added. “Thanks for showing me. G’night, Draco, Evans.”

“‘I show not your face but your heart’s desire’,” she mumbled once he left. “I show not your face but your heart’s desire.”

“It makes sense,” Draco added, startling her slightly. “I mean…”

“What did you see?” she had to ask. “What made you want to go back so bad?”

“Will you tell me yours, too?” he asked, looking down at his hands, almost too quiet to hear. She nodded. “Grandfather was still alive,” he told her. “And he and Father… their arms…”

“What about them?”

“They were blank.” She only frowned, opening her mouth to ask again. “The Dark Mark,” he answered before she could ask at all. “The Dark Lord’s mark is taken on the left forearm.”

_ Oh. _ So Lord Malfoy… oh.  _ Oh. _

It was a strange thing to think about, her best friend’s father fighting for the man who almost killed her family all those years ago, and she wasn’t sure she even knew how to process such a thing.

But Draco… Draco disagreed.

So that counted for something, right?

“And you were there,” he added after a moment, his cheeks a little pink, though it may have just been the firelight. 

She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t say anything else. “I saw my muggle friends,” she told him, breaking the silence without having to reply. “I was on some sort of throne, I think, a really pretty one, and you and Daphne and even Pansy were there around me, but so were Lucy and Colleen and Devonte and Thomas, and they were wearing robes- I think they had magic in the mirror- and Auntie was there, too.”

“You miss them,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She answered it anyways. “Every day. And I can’t even tell them- tell them  _ anything _ \- about all of this.” She gestured around them. “I do my best- Potions is Chemistry, Astronomy has no magical elements, Defense is just a normal defense elective. And I take all those muggle classes long-distance so at least I have a transcript to back up what I’m telling them, but it’s not the same. It’s so much lying, Draco, and I hate it.”

His efforts to hide his distaste at all things muggle was actually quite endearing. “Your heart’s desire is to not lose them,” he commented, slipping onto the couch beside her.

She smiled wryly, taking up his hand in hers and looking at how their fingers laced together. “My heart’s desire is a bit more selfish than that, I think. I want them to not have an easy excuse to let themselves be lost.”

“I don’t think that’s selfish,” Draco told her. “And if it is, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to dream.”

"That's why I didn't want to stay," she confessed. "I could have watched it forever- I wanted to, even- but that's all it is. It's a fool's dream, and a waste of what could have been a lot of time. We could have wasted away in front of that mirror, we could have sat there watching our own heavens until we died and hoped to get into them, and we never would have gotten to live our lives. We never would have even gotten the chance to make any of it come true."

"I suppose so," he allowed, albeit reluctantly. "But mine can't come true." The bitterness in his tone left a sour taste in the air.

She squeezed his hand and leaned to rest her head on his chest. “For what it’s worth,” she murmured, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your desire either.”

She hoped he could read the other messages in that-  _ not selfish, not judging, I don’t hate you, I trust you, I don’t hold your family against you, you’re not weak for wanting them out of the war. _

And by the way he was asleep only a few minutes later, his chin buried in her hair, she was pretty sure he could. She joined him in rest only a few minutes after that, a smile on her lips that remained through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! This one took me a while, sadly, but I haven't had much time to write, and I've actually gotten pretty sick which is pretty shitty. Writing takes my mind off of it, though, so I should be able to keep updating my fics quickly. Speaking of which, the first chapter of a new fic, Henrietta Potter and the Year Things Changed, is posted, and y'all should go and check it out!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please let me know what you thought! Comments are writing fuel!!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yule arrives, and so do some unexpected guests!

Lavinia had made an executive decision. Balls were really, really, wonderful.

Lord Malfoy had picked her and Draco up on Monday morning as planned, though he she and Draoc had caused a rather embarrassing delay by having only just woken up by the time he arrived, but she had to admit the experience was  _ much _ nicer than the day long train ride they had taken to school in the first place. The Hogwarts Express really was lovely, of course, but it seemed like a waste to put hundreds of kids unsupervised in a train for eight hours when they could just magick them to the castle. However, if she was being honest, she could go the rest of her life without going anywhere by  _ floo _ . Whoever decided that the best way to get from one place to another was to jump into one fireplace and get spat out into another deserved some eternal torture in the afterlife, really. 

Malfoy Manor, including the lands, was easily three times the size of the Potters’ manor, and it had gotten to the point where Lavinia was ready to start interrogating the Malfoys on the environmental sustainability of such an estate and why the hell they couldn’t find a charity more worthy of their money than having albino peacocks running around outside their house. Honestly, she doubted she would ever let Draco live it down. Albino peacocks,  _ really. _ The family clearly wanted the first word on everyone’s minds to be ‘rich’.

The Manor was beautiful, though, the kind of place straight out of a fairytale with rolling hills and forests dense even with the leaves dried up and fallen to the ground and a home that was practically a castle made of white stone carved into flowers and fleur de lis with those tiny little gated balconies off of every window, lush carpets over the white marble floors and tapestries and paintings adorning the walls. She was reminded again upon arrival and then every moment after of how the Malfoys had grown almost immune to their wealth, that five hundred galleons was a pound to them, and they reacted accordingly. It was strange, really, but it was easier to become accustomed to than the Potters’ veritable museum of a home.

Everything about her visit was romantically perfect, the mornings dancing in their ballroom or pouring over their library or sipping coffee on the veranda, the days spent flying or riding with Draco, the evenings spent in discussion with Lord and Lady Malfoy, the nights in the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in. 

It was all going so smoothly, in fact, that she had almost forgotten about the Malfoy Yule Ball on New Year’s Eve night, the so called biggest event of the year- did it still take that title if the same name applied every year?- but she was jolted back to the memory upon realizing that there wasn’t an easy way, or any way at all, actually, to ignore Narcissa Malfoy when she was on a mission. And at that moment, the mission was getting Lavinia into her costume, an activity that had to start four entire hours before the Ball started.

She had grouched, internally of course, at being taken from her research, as she really had a lot to do in that department if she had any hope of solving the Quirrell issue in the foreseeable future, but once she saw the costume that Aunt Narcissa had picked for her…  _ Circe _ , it was worth it.

The Yule Ball was always a costume ball, as she was reminded by everyone she spoke to, but this year was a masquerade as well, which, in her opinion, was the most romantic thing she could imagine. Honestly, she felt the greatest mistake the muggle world had ever made was giving up on the romantic sorts of traditions of old, replacing them with the ultra modern sorts of parties she and her muggles friends tended to frequent which, she allowed, were incredibly fun, but there was no dramatic value in such a party, too heavily reliant on the music loud enough and the lights low enough to let you ignore the fact that there was little else to do. As she spun from the arms of one partner to another, the full skirts of her costume flying around her and the orchestra’s lively music in the air, dramatic would be the next word on her tongue, only after magical, in the purest sense of the word.

The whole Malfoy family was dressed as different types of nymphs, and she had almost cried when she realized she would be matching with them. It was traditional, she understood, for the hosting family to maintain a theme among themselves to show unity and understanding, or something like that, and the implication that she herself was a part of the Malfoy household was just so immensely touching. 

Lady Malfoy was a nereid, in sweeping robes of deep blue and a mask that curled around her eyes like a tempest, and Lavinia was reminded far more of a siren ready to sing them all to their merciless deaths than a spirit of peace. Lord Malfoy had taken the attire of a meadow nymph, in soft green robes with a crown of leaves and small yellow flowers on his long hair, and Draco had taken his mothers lead and chosen the costume of a naiad in a soft sort of blue. Lavinia, in turn, had been assigned the identity of a forest nymph for a night, and, while she still wasn’t sure- and still was curious- if her costume was technically considered robes or a dress, she couldn’t really bring herself to care when she had silvery wings on her back that moved as she danced and sprigs of lily of the valley braided into her hair. 

She allowed her partner to dip her back, and she heard the older woman’s delighted laugh when she chose to show off, bending back almost to the floor and raising one pointed foot high in the air, and she caught Draco’s eye from where he stood with Pansy, flashing an almost giddy smile that he easily returned before Pansy grabbed his arm with a forced sort of smile, setting her drink on the table with a bit more force than was probably necessary and pulling him to the dance floor. She spun away from whatever Lady it was she was dancing with before she was pulled by the hand into another partner.

“Marcus!” she cried, realizing who had grabbed her and letting him lift her by the waist to spin her around. “Oh, it’s so lovely to see you, how are you doing?”

“Absolutely peachy, Evans,” he proclaimed, and she didn’t think she had seen him quite so laid back and happy in a while; he was generally a bit gruff and high strung, and even when he was most relaxed, when they practiced in the mornings, he was still on high alert. It really came entirely unexpected that he would be most in his element dancing at a gala, and she couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol she expected he had consumed, as she had seen him far further into a drunken stupor than he was just then. “I didn’t realize you would be here, or I would have sought you out earlier. I assume you’re staying with the Malfoys?”

“Whatever gave it away?” she replied drily. “The costume or my glorious presence itself?”

“Fair enough,” he allowed as she ducked under his arm, reminded yet again of just how tall he was in comparison. She didn’t miss heels as a societal sort of thing, really, but she did miss the height boost. Maybe she should try to find platform shoes or something. “Say,” he continued after a moment. “Why are you here, rather than with your family- either of them?”

“Potters never asked, and Auntie wasn’t sure if it was safe to go home just yet,” she listed off. “And I wasn’t very well going to reject the invitation.”

“No, I should say not. I do hope you’re making use of the Malfoys’ quidditch pitch, at least; it’s one of the nicest out there, and you know our next game is in like three weeks.” 

“But of course,” she agreed, mock offended at the implication that she would allow herself to drop out of practice. “I’ve been teaching Draco some of the stunts we work on, too, so you’ll probably have a chaser lined up for next year if you need one.”

He looked quite intrigued at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Oh, and it’s on you to deal with Higgs before this game,” she added, remembering. She smirked. “Otherwise, I’ll start feeling guilty.”

“Anything for your conscience,” he agreed with a laugh, and the conversation was cut off there in exchange for a bit of concentration, as the part of the dance after that was a rather complicated bit that required three couples all dancing between each other.

The song finished a few minutes later and she bowed to her partners, excusing herself to find the drinks table and, hopefully, Daphne. She spent a few minutes just watching the people flying around each other in perfect synchronized movement, the robes swishing against each other and the masks over everyone’s eyes concealing absolutely nothing.

“Champagne, darling?” came a wonderfully familiar voice.

“Thank you, love,” she replied, accepting the flute and leaning in to kiss her friend’s cheeks. “Is there not a drinking age in the magical world?”

“Seventeen when you’re not supervised in someone’s home,” was Daphne’s automatic reply. “But we’re the latter. And Marcus sent me over,” she answered the unspoken question. “Says you’ve been mourning the dreadful lack of my lovely presence throughout the entire night, and it’s really just my duty to ensure that you don’t bring down the entire party in your gloominess.”

“He did  _ not _ say that.”

“No, but wouldn’t it have been funny if he had?” she asked rhetorically, sipping her champagne. “You look gorgeous, by the way- it was quite easy to find the girl that the entire ballroom is staring at.”

She flushed. “Thank you. And you look lovely, too,” she added. “The mask, especially.”

Daphne smoothed a hand over her blue robes with a smile. She was dressed as a butterfly, with a million layers of sheer fabric draped upon her robes and clasped around her wrists to act as wings and a butterfly mask that stretched over her cheeks and little charmed blue butterflies flitting over her hair. She looked like some sort of goddess, come down from the heavens to bless the crowds of mortals that awaited her arrival.

She worked up the courage to ask Daphne to dance, and the rest of the night was spent mainly together other than a few dances with Draco and Lord or Lady Malfoy. Easily one the strangest parts was when Lord Malfoy pulled her into a political discussion with a few other Lords and Ladies, but the strangest part of all was when she was actually able to keep up with them quite easily. She actually found herself enjoying the conversation, and she now had a successful formal introduction with a sizeable chunk of the nobility.

The whole experience of the night was like being transported into a whole other world- not even just the usual other world that was the magical world as opposed to the muggle- and sweet Circe, she really had too many worlds that she existed in simultaneously- but this one was like a fairytale, maybe. She could dance the night away and let her mind float into the clouds of romance, and, soon enough, she, Draco, Daphne, and Pansy were waiting for midnight by the window, and as the clock struck time, the snow started to fall, and everything was perfect. 

They went out to the courtyard after that, the one by the gardens where they grew the winter roses, after asking Lord Malfoy to cast a heating charm over the perimeter to keep the snow out. She couldn’t help but think of the winter nights she spent with her friends back home, no spells to keep the cold away, just fuzzy pajamas and hot chocolate and snowflakes on their eyelashes, and they’d be running through the empty streets or down in the park down the block, and she was forced to remember again just how different it was from that. She would never go to mess around at the playground in the middle of the night with her magical friends, and she would never go to balls with her muggle friends. And that would have to be enough.

Yule was different than Samhain, as there was less connection with death and a good bit more with life. Where there was a rather intricate ritual on Samhain, with proper runic circles and placements, incantations to be memorized and motions that apparently were  _ not _ called choreography that went along with them, the Yule rites were more centered around the emotion and festivity of the evening. The entire party had gone outside to the gardens, taking places around the rose bushes wherever they could fit, and, as one, cast a fire spell on the Yule tree- no wands, just combined intent. The magic had swirled almost visibly in the air, a glow that didn’t seem to come from anything in particular, a breeze that she could feel on her skin that didn’t move a hair on her head. It was more of the feeling of rearrangement, or perhaps reversal, back to the natural state of her magic, of her soul, each piece of the puzzle falling into place ad the burning branches broke one by one to fall to the ground, and the last piece was picked out from among the flames to be stored for the next year’s celebration.

It made her sad to see Daphne and even Pansy leave at the end of the night, especially after they had performed the Yuletide rites and their magic was begging them to stay close as it sang, but she fell asleep at three or so when the last of the guests had left, it was a peaceful, dreamless sort of exhaustion that left her with a smile on her face. She didn’t think she could remember a time when she’d had quite so much fun.

She slept in for the first time in Morgana knows how long, letting the honeyed rays of long since risen sunlight warm her body as she stretched at ten the next morning, the first morning of the new year, wrestling her hair into a few braids that wrapped around her head like a crown and slipping into purple everyday robes that Aunt Narcissa had given her- the closed type, since all she had bought herself were open robes. She made her way to the sitting room where they usually liked to have breakfast, long since accepting that Draco wouldn’t be up for at least another hour, and was just pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot on an end table when Aunt Narcissa’s voice came floating down the hall.

“Lavinia, dear, guess who’s here?” she called, and Lavinia could practically feel the smugness in her tone stifling the air.

She almost dropped her tea when she saw. “Auntie?”

“In the flesh,” the older woman replied, rushing forward to wrap her in a tight embrace. “I think you’ve grown,” she remarked, the comment muffled by Lavinia’s hair. “It’s been too long, sweetheart, I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too. How did you…?”

“Narcissa brought me over,” she explained. “She invited me when we met up for coffee last month, so I’m here for the rest of the week until you go back to school on Saturday.”

“Thank you,” Lavinia breathed, breaking away from Auntie to turn to Aunt Narcissa, giving her a deep curtsey. “Thank you so much, Lady Malfoy, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I think I’m getting the picture, dear,” she replied, but there was nothing but softness in her tone. “It took a bit of wrangling my darling Lucius into agreement, but it was nothing I can’t handle. Happy Yule, dear, and happy new year.” She gave Lavinia a one armed sort of hug and kissed her brow. “Now, I’ll give you two a bit to catch up; I have a few things I should get around to attending to.”

“I did  _ not _ know you two met for coffee,” Lavinia said, taking a seat on one of the couches and setting her cup on the table and trying to conjure up a mental picture of something like that.

“We only started in October,” Auntie told her. “It was pretty shocking seeing her in normal clothes- er, muggle clothes- though, I gotta say.”

“She owns muggle clothes?” That really was shocking. She had only ever seen the woman in robes- and formal ones, too, even in the more casual of situations.

“She owns suits that cost as much as our house,” Auntie corrected drily, scooting a bit closer and wrapping an arm around Lavinia’s shoulders tightly, as though, if she were to let go, the girl would just float right away like a balloon from its young owner, jumping after it and never catching the string. “Very out of place in our coffee shop but muggle nonetheless.” She sighed. “I missed you a lot, and she missed her son, and I don’t think she knows anyone else who isn’t as formal as her.”

“No, probably not.” Given the crowd at the ball, which was supposedly made up of all the Malfoys’ friends, she couldn’t see there being anyone else in that room who Aunt Narcissa could meet up with who wouldn’t bring up anything proper and formal every other second. There were a few downsides to being part of the one percent, she supposed, even if they were rather silly concerns in comparison.

“Tell me about everything, sweetheart- how’s school going? What’s everybody like?”

It took the better part of the day to catch up, and she was grateful yet again for house elves when one of them brought lunch a few hours in. Besides being generally wonderful to see her aunt again, it was refreshing to talk to someone who wasn’t so accustomed to the awful management of the magical world at large and could be an open book to criticize it without remorse.

She told her more about the trolls let loose in the dorms, the Cerberus in the empty classroom, the way she was so certain her professor was possessed. She told her all about quidditch and the rest of the team, and Auntie laughed when she told her about how angry Oliver was at her position on the team, and held her while she finally told her how her whole year apart from her closest friends would shun her, jinxing her things and sending hexes at her in the halls and how the older Slytherins still looked at her with that deep set distrust when it came to anything other than quidditch, and how that  _ hurt _ even when she did her best to ignore it. 

There wasn’t really much of anything that one muggle woman could do in the face of Hogwarts, especially when said muggle wasn’t even the parent of any of the students, only the aunt of a girl who had rich magical parents who called the shots for her, but it was nice at least to tell her.

Auntie was the strangest temporary addition to the Malfoy household that was probably ever possible, but it worked in its own strange way. Auntie wasn’t all that comfortable around the magic, and the Malfoys, Lord Malfoy and Draco especially, weren’t particularly comfortable when it came to muggles at all, but with Lavinia and Aunt Narcissa acting as the glue to hold them all together, it worked out at least a little, and Lord Malfoy seemed to enjoy people around whom he could flaunt his wealth. Their goodbye was tearful to say the least, and Lavinia was grateful for the Malfoys’ good manners in entirely ignoring the two of them the entire morning that Saturday.

“Are you absolutely sure your father didn’t have an affair with your aunt?” Draco was asking, and it was enough to jolt her from her journal where she was rereading the notes she had on how to un-possess someone via ritual magic.

“ _ Excuse  _ me?”

Daphne and Pansy were cracking up behind their hands, and Draco had turned positively crimson at her outburst, but he powered through it regardless. “You have  _ all _ the same mannerisms,” he explained, gesturing in a vague sort of way. “You’re exactly the same person, you’re just younger and better trained.”

“Have you perhaps considered that that’s because she raised me and not because she slept with my father?” she shot back, fighting to keep her expression angry through the laugh that was trying its very best to escape her lips. “I mean,  _ Circe _ , Dray, that would mean that he slept with my aunt and mother on the same bloody  _ day _ for me and Oliver to share a birthday- don’t you suppose that would be a bit fucked up? If you’ll pardon my French?”

“Not any French  _ I’ve _ ever heard,” Pansy mumbled, adjusting her new round framed glasses- not prescription ones, even, just cute ones, and Lavinia found it hilarious that the magical world had adopted the same idea as the muggle one.

“It’s a valid question,” he argued.

“Careful, dear, your petulance is showing,” Daphne remarked lightly, keeping her gaze on the society magazine she was flipping through as she lay in Lavinia’s lap. Apparently the lead singer of some up and coming music group called Summer Coven, if she could read the group's name correctly at such a weird angle, had just finalized a betrothal with the Heiress of the House of Abbott, and apparently, people were really supposed to care about such a thing.

“I’m not petulant,” he denied, crossing his arms… petulantly. 

It turned out he did not appreciate her pointing that out. It was worth it, though, really, even if she wasn’t going to tell him that.

They had agreed at the ball to actually take the train back to school rather than having their parents take them directly to school or drop them off in Hogsmeade, the little town by the school, and it wasn’t something she regretted in the least, even if it was a bit exhausting to sit still for so long. It was relaxing to just watch the scenery go by, and she doubted there would ever come a point when she wasn’t entertained by her friends’ ability to bicker in their typical never ending fashion. 

“It’s called  _ class _ , Greengrass,  _ honestly _ -”

Yea, she decided. They really were pretty godsdamned wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I know a few parts of this one feel a bit rushed, but I wanted to get something out for y'all. I've been wrestling a pretty bad fever for the better part of a week now, and my online classes just kicked back up, so I have a lot less time and energy than before, which is absolutely tragic because writing is really such a joy. 
> 
> I hope you guys liked the chapter, pretty please let me know what you thought in the comments, and stay safe!
> 
> Oh, and follow my tumblr @venus-ink :))
> 
> (also we hit 100k y'all !!!!)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelation time!!

“Alright,” Pansy said suddenly, snapping shut the notebook she had been studying only moments before. “We need to talk.”

They had all gathered in the library to review for the Potions exam the next day, and Lavinia was grateful that fate had given her the exact group of friends it had, because there was no way there was anyone in their year more prepared for Potions than Draco Malfoy. Sure, between last year’s chemistry and years of knowing how to cook, it wasn’t all that hard to follow a basic recipe, and memorization was the furthest thing from hard, but there was that certain touch that some people had and some people didn’t, and he  _ definitely _ had it, so hearing Pansy, someone who would not be doing nearly so well in the class without Draco’s help, opting to talk instead of study came as quite the surprise.

“What is it?” she asked, not looking up from Draco’s notebook.

“Remember when you came to us a bit after Samhain, crying about how there was a big dog in the school and it was guarding something?”

Well, that certainly wasn’t what she was expecting her to say. And she had not  _ cried _ . “I don’t think I could have forgotten something like that, Pansy,” she replied with a dry laugh, setting the book on the arm of her chair. 

The other girl took a deep breath. “Then I’m assuming you also remember explicitly instructing us not to look into what it was guarding.”

“Yes, of course. What… No. No, you didn’t,” she denied, realizing what the other girl was implying and feeling the dread of such a realization pooling in her stomach. “You wouldn’t really be so reckless, so foolish, so incredibly  _ Gryffindor _ so as to put yourselves in danger for that.”

Draco and Daphne suddenly looked very sheepish, or rather Daphne did, and Draco just looked plain guilty. 

Pansy scowled and folded her arms. “If these two decided to go traipsing around forbidden corridors, then this is the first I’m hearing of it either.  _ But _ , we have been looking into it a bit more.  _ And _ , it turns out your brother’s pet mudblood has done our research for us.”

“Language, Miss Parkinson,” she reminded her absently, before the rest of the sentence caught up in her mind. “Wait, Oliver’s researching the dog, too?”

“At the very least, he’s put his  _ muggleborn _ on the job,” she agreed, emphasizing the word quite pointedly. “I understand that they found the Cerberus close to the beginning of the year, and they’re  _ still _ figuring out what’s in there.”

“So you don’t actually know,” she finished.    


“Let me  _ speak _ , Merlin, Evans,” the other girl grouched. “Just because Potter’s little friends don’t know who Nicholas Flamel is doesn’t mean I don’t.”

She blinked. Nicholas Flamel was actually magical? Like real, magical magic, not just normal magic? Okay, that may have been the most ridiculous thought she’d ever had. “The French writer?” Lavinia asked. “He was rumored to be an alchemist or something, I think. I had a friend who was always really interested in the story.”

“Not a story, but yes,” Draco spoke up. “He’s the most famous alchemist in the magical world. I heard even Dumbledore studied under him.”

“Can’t be that famous if I’ve never heard of him,” Daphne denied.

“He did,” Pansy agreed, ignoring the other girl. “My father studied alchemy, see, so I’ve picked up a good bit of the background sort of knowledge. Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel are the only known makers of the Philosopher’s stone.” She paused dramatically there, but Daphne was the only one to give any sort of reaction.

Philosopher’s stone, Philosopher’s stone, what had Thomas said about that? Clearly about alchemy, and the most famous result of alchemy… “Turning metal to gold?” she checked, crossing her fingers and hoping she sounded more confident than she really was in that answer.

“That’s one of the effects,” Pansy confirmed. “But the other is immortality. It’s how the Flamels have been around for hundreds of years. A depressing existence, if I’m being honest; I mean, imagine all your children, grandchildren, great-great-great-great-grandchildren all dying in front of you while you continued to live, happy in your permanent middle age.” The rest of the group all looked more than a bit concerned at that proclamation. “Still, though, it must be absolutely wild to live that long, and they’ve done it.” 

“All with their fancy rock,” Daphne finished solemnly.

“And you think said fancy rock is currently in this school? Under a trapdoor currently protected a bloody Cerberus?” Her head fell hard in her hands. “This all makes too much sense.”

“How does something make too much sense?” came from a bewildered Draco.

She counted off on her fingers. “The Boy-Who-Lived starts school, the Philosopher’s stone is hidden very poorly but probably behind multiple layers of obstacles, one of our professors is possessed, the same professor who released a troll earlier this year and got out of the night with a bite on his leg. Too much is going on to be any sort of a coincidence.”

“But who would want to steal the Philosopher’s stone?” Daphne asked, shaking her head.

“Besides literally everyone?” Draco shot back.

Pansy rolled her eyes, giving a sigh thick with a dark sort of acceptance. “No. Who would Dumbledore set up for the Boy-Who-Lived to pit himself against, who would be able to possess someone and then want to steal the Philosopher’s stone right from under his nose? The stone’s been safe for hundreds of years, wherever it was. In France with the Flamels, or Gringotts, probably.”

“And there was that break-in last summer,” Lavinia realized. “The one where the person didn’t even find anything.”

“Well, who can we think of who would break into Gringotts, or be able to make someone do it for them,” Pansy added. “Maybe you should ask your  _ father _ , Draco, or I could ask mine.”

He had turned white as a sheet. “You don’t really think…”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Lavinia replied, her fingers massaging her temples as she heard just how tired she sounded, a sense of finality heavy in her words. “The Dark Lord has come back to Hogwarts.”

“We cannot be talking about this here,” Daphne hissed, a surprising amount of anger on her normally pleasant features. “We can meet up after dinner, alright? Everyone go back to the room with the mirror by eight and we’ll talk there- does that work?” They nodded. “Good. Now study; the exam doesn’t care about how many dogs are living in the castle.”

Lavinia groaned. There was really only so invested one could be when it came to the drought of living death.

They, excluding Daphne, who was perfectly poised apart from the glares she shot them at every sign of upset, were all quite jittery through dinner, the three courses seeming to be endless and every casual conversation feeling like a threat, some sort of reveal that they weren’t prepared for, just peeling back the skin on their faces until all that was left of their brains was the damning truth.

Lavinia ended up skipping dessert just to get out of the hall faster, dodging the quidditch talk with some lie about an upset stomach, and she ended up in the room with the mirror by seven-thirty, as it took a good half an hour to find the room itself. At least, this time, the door was already there when she arrived, so she didn’t have to figure out just what it was that would make it appear. 

It wasn’t quite as dark as she remembered it being, but that may have been her nerves the first time she visited making the whole experience seem as ominous as possible. She found the mirror easily, as it stood out quite starkly with the bright white covering stretching higher than anything else in the room.

She wouldn’t look, she wouldn’t look.

She looked.

She pulled the sheet from the glass and spread it on the cold stone floor like a strange sort of picnic blanket, pulling the corner over her lap to calm the goosebumps on her legs. The sight of them all relaxed her, seeing Lucy and Daphne perched on the arms of her throne and Thomas and Pansy leaning towards her through the mirror from behind it. Auntie was beside them, her hand resting on Lavinia’s shoulder, and the rest of her friends lounged on the steps of the dais around her, wands twirling beneath their fingers and that look in their eyes of perfect balance between completely relaxed and ready to fight. There were a few people among them that she couldn’t quite make out, a girl beside Pansy and a few other blurred figures on the steps, but her eyes seemed to skim over them with each glance, so she couldn’t spend more than a few moments considering them.

“You know,” came a voice from behind her, startling her out of her relaxed state and activating her fight or flight instinct, her body tense and her eyes wide as she attempted and probably failed to not show any outward signs of surprise, “men have wasted away in front of this mirror, unable to tear their eyes from the image until there was nothing left.”

“Then I suppose Fate truly smiled upon me when she did not make me a man, Headmaster,” Lavinia replied automatically, wincing at the thought of her old friends as she threw Colleen’s favorite line at the Professor.

“Men and women alike, my dear girl,” he corrected himself. “Unsure if what they’re seeing is real or even achievable.”

“Only if you believe desire can be depicted in an image,” she argued. She didn’t even really disagree with him, but something about his presence, his demeanor, made her want to act as contrarian as absolutely possible. “For most, it’s only going to show it’s best representation of a deeper desire.” Peace, probably, for Daphne’s, freedom and autonomy for Draco’s, and for hers…

“Ah, my dear girl,” he chuckled. “I see you’ve figured out what the mirror does.”

“Yes, sir, though I really must ask that you don’t refer to me with quite that level of familiarity,” she told him tensely. “As my Professor, it’s really quite inappropriate.” And she really did not appreciate the condescension.

“Of course. And what is it that the mirror shows you, Miss Potter?” he asked, and she heard his footsteps against the stone as he came closer. 

Her jaw tightened as her heart began to beat a bit harder than before, and she turned to look at the old man. “I doubt I’m mistaken in saying that such a question is highly personal, Headmaster. I do expect you’ll be returning the favor.” He nodded his agreement and she answered honestly. “I see my family, sir. I see them all together.”

By the almost smug look on his face, he had probably assumed she meant the Potters. She didn’t correct him. 

“And you, Headmaster? What is it that you see?”

“I? Why,” he told her, gazing into the mirror somewhat wistfully, “I see myself holding a pair of nice woolen socks.”

“Excuse me?”

“One can never have too many socks, Miss Potter,” he advised her. 

She picked at her black tights. “Al-right,” she said hesitantly, wondering if he was going entirely senile or if he was throwing her words right back at her, and the socks represented something real for him.

“Now,” he continued. “The mirror will be moved to a different location by the time you come here again, but I must ask that you do not go searching for it, Miss Potter.”

“Of course, sir,” she agreed, standing and charming the sheet back over the mirror. “I’ll just be going now, if that’s alright.”

She almost made it out the door when he spoke again. “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Miss Potter, remember that.”

She mumbled something vaguely agreeable and shut the door behind her, sinking to the ground with her back against the cold stone as she took her first real breath since he had announced his presence. 

Why had he been watching her? Hell, how long had he been there before he made his presence known?

If he had been there every time they had gone, that would have been very, very bad. Not just because he had absolutely no right to know what the four of them desired, but also because that just had so many implications. It could mean that he was stalking them, or, more specifically, she supposed, her, which was disturbing in it of itself. She hadn’t done anything stalking-worthy at all so far that year- she hadn’t gotten in a lot of trouble but she also hadn’t been particularly noteworthy for anything around the school. Oliver, sure, what with the troll incident last October, and his general existence making everyone fall to the ground before him, but the most she had done that would be noteworthy was becoming reserve seeker for Slytherin, and no one really payed attention to the Slytherin team anyways.

The other possibility was that it was the mirror he was watching rather than her, waiting for any visitors who might arrive, and that was really just as concerning, because that meant the mirror was there for a  _ purpose _ , it meant that he had put the mirror there so that someone would find it, would look into it and see their soul spread out on a sheet of glass, and so he could know what they saw, so he could strike at just the right moment, throw them off balance, and learn their heart’s desire for whatever creepy, voyeuristic reason he had let his mind supply.

She couldn’t decide which she would prefer.

She took a deep breath. “I am Lavinia Hyadette Evans,” she murmured, tapping her fingers against the wall behind her on each syllable, “and I will not be lost. I’m Lavinia Hyadette Evans and I will not be lost. I’m-”

“Lavinia?” She looked up to see Draco had arrived, the others following a few steps behind. “Are you alright? What are you doing there on the floor?”

“We can’t go in there,” she told him, shaking her head frantically and her voice sounding as jittery as she felt. “We can’t go back, we have to go.”

“Okay,” he agreed immediately, helping her up and watching her with so much honest concern that it warmed her heart. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“Anywhere, doesn’t matter,” she dismissed, pulling him down the hall with the other girls running after them. “Back to the common room, there’s a spot that should be private enough.”

“The common room is this way, Evans,” Pansy interrupted dragging her to the left as she turned to go right. “Are you going to tell us what the hell happened back there or no?”

“When we get there. I’ll tell you when we get there,” she told her, taking the stairs of the complex down two at a time. 

The common room was pretty crowded when they got there, which was somewhat of a relief, honestly, as it was always comforting to see the rest of Slytherin just existing together, groups lounging on couches to talk or huddling around the fire while they poured over a book, a few people sleeping or reading, the lower years practicing their spellwork while the upper years watched and helped. Professor Sinistra was sitting between a few of the older students, Marcus among them, a map of the stars spread out on the table in front of them, and Lavinia couldn’t help but feel that Slytherin was, in many ways, one big family, a family of old fashioned rejects who wanted to change the world.

She led her friends back to the little tower off the corner of the common room, slipping up the ladder onto the roof and laying back against the railing to look at the sky.

“How did you find this place?” Daphne asked. “It’s lovely, really.”

“I found it the first morning,” she told her, patting the ground beside her so the other girl would join her. “I wanted to know where that little door led, and I liked what I found enough to keep coming back. Anyway, I’ve never seen anyone else up here, or even any evidence that someone else was here, so I figured it’s probably safe enough.”

“It certainly seems to be,” Daphne agreed. 

“Now, why were you so upset back at the room?” Draco cut in. “What happened in there?”

“Dumbledore was there.”

And now they were all talking over each other.

“Did he do something to you?”

“Is he stalking you?”

“What did he want?”

“He just told me not to come back and warned me about wasting away on my dreams, or something like that,” she told them. “But it was very startling to find him there, and he asked me what I see in the mirror and stuff, and it was just… I don’t know, very stressful.”

“Isn’t it unprofessional to ask your students what their deepest desires are?” Daphne mused. “I mean, imagine if it had been something really embarrassing.”

“It’s definitely unprofessional,” Draco agreed. “Do you want me to tell my father? He’s on the board, he can talk to Dumbledore about not being… like that.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. Besides, I’d just rather keep my head down when it comes to him. He’s kind of creepy, you know?”

“Definitely creepy,” Pansy agreed. “And he hates Slytherins so much he’s practically famous for it. Better not to start anything with him until you have the power to do it for yourself.”

“Are you doing alright?” Draco cut in. “I know it was stressful, but it wasn’t anything more, right?”

“Yes,” she assured her, fixing her skirt so she could sit up cross-legged. “I’m fine. Why don’t we talk about what we meant to talk about? You know, the whole Dark Lord in the school thing?”

“I cannot believe you’ve been getting private lessons from the Dark Lord,” Pansy breathed, somewhere between jealous and reverent. “I mean, he must be amazing, really- you don’t get that powerful without a certain level of skill-”

He face dropped. “I tied him up,” Lavinia remembered in a whisper, staring down at her hands. “I tied up the Dark Lord with a charmed teacup and he  _ laughed _ , Pansy.”

“Does he know you know?” Daphne spoke up, resting her head on Lavinia’s shoulder, clearly the reasonable one in the group for choosing not to stay on that topic any longer. “That he’s possessed, that is? Or that he means any harm to the school?”

“Does he mean any harm to the school?” Draco asked. “I mean, obviously he wants the stone and all, but does he actually want to hurt anyone? For all we know, he could just take the stone and leave, nothing else.”

“It’s the bloody Dark Lord, idiot, of course he means harm,” Pansy hissed. “He’s not just going to show up in bloody Hogwarts where Dumbledore and the Boy-Who-Lived are and leave without trying anything. Especially if he’s still how Father describes him at the end of the war.”

“What was he like at the end of the war?” Lavinia had to ask. “Or what was different, I suppose.”

“He went a bit, well,  _ mad _ ,” Draco told her reluctantly, pointedly ignoring Pansy’s warning glare. “I mean he started out a right genius, that’s what Grandfather would always say at least. They went to school together,” he clarified. “Grandfather was only a year older, and he was one of his original inner circle, back before they were even called Death Eaters. He used to tell me stories about it all.”

“I can’t believe Voldemort was the subject of your bedtime stories,” Lavinia teased, but there was no heat behind it. 

“I know, it sounds ridiculous,” Draco agreed. “But, Merlin, the man was amazing from what he’d always say. Came from nothing and built an empire, or tried to at least.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what happened by the end, neither does Father- I’m pretty sure Grandfather knew, but he never told me why- but he went a bit off the deep end. He was known before for being insanely smart, always thinking ten steps ahead, but then…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

“Then he attacked a random Light family with no backup and got defeated by a baby,” Pansy finished drily. “I don’t think we need to dance around this one, Dray.”

He sniffed. “Yes, well. You’re right- if he’s anything like he was at the end, then he’s a danger. If he’s not…” 

“That’s not a chance we should be taking,” Daphne spoke up finally. “I don’t think he seems crazy, not right now at least. He seems sane, or at least pretty normal, but that doesn’t mean it’s worth banking our lives on.”

Lavinia turned to look at her friend. “Were your parents-?”

“Oh, Merlin, no,” Daphne denied. “My family’s traditional, but we’ve been neutral for as long as anyone can remember. We weren’t involved in the war whatsoever. Both sides tried to get us, though, or that’s what Mother always tells us.”

“There’s a few families like that,” Draco added. “When you’ve been neutral long enough, picking a side means a lot in society.”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” Lavinia agreed. “And I agree. We can’t rely on the assumption that the Dark Lord is sane or harmless right now, not if we want to get out of all of this unscathed. I’ve been looking up rituals to get a soul out of the body it’s possessing- which, by the way, is not the same as getting a soul out of its own body, which is  _ very _ annoying as it set my research back a good month- and then to restore its original body, but I have no experience with rituals.”

“I do,” Daphne said. Everyone turned to look at her, but she just shrugged. “Father got his mastery in ritual magic when I was younger, since the war had calmed down and he really didn’t have much to do. Astoria and I were old enough to not need constant care, and Mother’s the Head of our House, so he started studying, and I always liked helping. I still know most of it, and I’m good enough that he’s trusted me to do it on my own since I was ten or so.” She tilted her head. “Though that may more be his irresponsibility in play. Regardless, I can help with that.”

“Okay,” Lavinia agreed, feeling some of the tension leaving her body. “I guess I just- you don’t all  _ have _ to get involved in this, okay? I can do this myself. You don’t have to help me exorcise the Dark Lord or whatever the hell the closest comparison is. You can forget all about all of this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “We’re your friends; we’re not letting you do rituals on the Dark Lord’s soul all by yourself. Merlin, what kind of people would that make us?”

“Awful ones,” Daphne supplied.

“Idiots,” Pansy corrected. “I certainly doubt the Dark Lord  _ wants _ to not have a body; we’re only going to be rewarded for helping him.”

“We’re not- we’re not  _ helping _ him,” Lavinia argued, not quite sure why she was so firm on that point. “We’re helping ourselves so that we don’t have to worry about the school or ourselves being in danger. Not him.”

Pansy just stared at her for a few moments before shooting a look at Draco that he returned with a smothered laugh. “Whatever you say, Evans. Besides, think how that would make us look when it comes out that you saved the day and your friends were nowhere to be seen.”

She really did have a point. It wasn’t like Lavinia had particularly expected them to say no, but part of her wouldn’t stop nagging at the back of her mind saying that they were only there from obligation, or worry, or whatever else they would come up with. She could deal with the implications of Pansy’s statement- that they would stick around for their image or for the power and attention that would come with it. She was perfectly used to Slytherins being self-serving- she appreciated it, really, as it was the only predictable thing about them- and she trusted them to act in their own best interest.

“Fine,” she conceded, as it wasn’t like they would change their minds. “I have a few other books in my room- who’s up for some research?” 

Pepper-up potions were better than sleep anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the dead, or at least from the sick, so here's your chapter!! Let me know what you thought in the comments and go check out my tumblr @venus-ink!!!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of Potter, little bit of everybody else. Also a lot of emotions, and Lavinia does not approve.

“I need to talk to you.”

It was a cliche reason to be upset, of course, and she knew that perfectly well, but that was the phrase that echoed through her mind in distracting reverberations of paranoia for the next two and a half hours as she sat through Friday’s double Potions lesson and Draco’s near endless scolding as she almost dropped in the newt’s eyes a step too early, a mistake that could have cost them their fingers or their senses of smell, or something like that. She really hadn’t payed much attention to his lecture. 

Eventually, he had given up on her and had her prepare the ingredients instead, not letting her near the cauldron for the rest of the lesson while he brewed a potion that, if they were very lucky, the professor wouldn’t fail them for. Well, he didn’t ever really fail  _ them _ , as no one could reasonably find fault in any of Draco’s potions, but he had a reputation for grading the Slytherins far, far harsher than any of the other houses, and Draco had very pointedly refused to ever be on the receiving end of such treatment.

She was actually kind of disappointed she had almost ruined the potion, as she hadn’t done that since the beginning of the year and had hoped to keep up the successful streak, but her brain was really otherwise occupied and far too stressed to care all that much about a mistake that didn’t even happen.

What did he need to talk about? Why did he suddenly want to talk at all? Hell, there were only a couple months left in the school year, what had taken so long if he wanted to have a revelation about the value of family or something?

Whatever the reason, it had her fidgeting through the rest of the lesson, barely catching anything the professor said about the Wiggenweld Potion that they would be brewing in a week or so. The one good thing about magical school, at least, was that the professors, while they would take points if someone was being distracting, didn’t bother anyone when they acted strange during class, where the muggle teachers would immediately take up a crusade against drugs the moment a student took a break.

Were there even drugs in the magical world? She hadn’t seen anyone smoking when she was in Diagon, but it seemed more of a tourist sort of district anyways, so it may have just been a coincidence. She’d have to ask Draco after class. She feared that if she asked him in the middle of the lesson, the lesson she wasn’t even participating in, he would snap and throw the potion in her face like women did on bad dates in romantic comedies. It’s what she would do at least. 

I need to talk to you.

What could he possibly want? It was  _ infinitely _ frustrating.

Her fingers danced around her lacy collar and the little bits of hair that had fallen out of her updo as she waited outside the classroom, her heel tapping on the ground as she tried to distract herself from the conversation that was coming.

“You stayed,” Oliver said, sounding legitimately surprised as he joined her outside the door. “Thanks for… y’know, giving me a chance here.”

She hesitated, watching him for some sign that this was all a great prank, but she didn’t find any, just awkwardness and a little reluctance behind his casual manner. “Of course,” she dismissed. “Here, I know a nice spot we can talk if you want to go.”

“Yeah, er, lead the way,” he offered, gesturing a bit stiffly.

The walk was spent in an uncomfortable sort of silence, loaded glances shared when they thought the other wasn’t looking, but not to some extent that would have her pulling her wand from the holster on her thigh or ducking out of the meeting altogether. She took him to one of her favorite spots, a window seat somewhere in the grey zone between Slytherin and Hufflepuff, with the window in question being a rounded piece of glass separating them from the Black Lake, where they could see fish and other creatures swimming by, and the deep greenish light contrasted with the torches lining the other side of the hall and the soft golden velvet of the seat.

“It is nice here,” he spoke up after a moment. “I see why you like it.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little at how uncomfortable he sounded approving of something near the Slytherin territory. “Thank you. And this isn’t in the Complex, by the way,” she informed him. “We’re actually almost at the Sett.”

She bit back a laugh when he visibly relaxed and tossed one of the pillows at him, since they had both been set on her side of the seat and he was leaning rather awkwardly against the stone. He caught it, of course, but he just held onto it, seeming somewhat grateful to have something to hold onto.

“I just wanted to let you know that you’re coming home for Easter,” he told her, watching his hands. “Mum and Dad said so in their letter.”

She swallowed hard. “They want me to visit?” He nodded. “And you? Do you… nevermind,” she cut herself off, shaking her head as though to force out such thoughts. She didn’t need or want his approval or validation. 

He shrugged. “I don’t really care.”

That was as good as she was going to get, wasn’t it. If she was lucky, the two of them would be able to keep up a lovely mutual relationship of disregarding the other’s existence. Picture perfect families, right? But could she really complain about their family dynamic when she wasn’t even trying? A thought struck her. Had they expected her to write first and taken her lack of letters as a cue not to send their own?

_ You’re the child, _ argued a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Auntie.  _ It’s their responsibility to offer a relationship. _

She slumped back, her head knocking against the stone wall just a little too hard for comfort. “I’ll go,” she agreed, feeling like she had sold her soul to the devil instead of signed away a week to her own parents. “Do I need to write them to let them know or anything?”

He had brightened a bit at her acceptance- he had probably assumed she would put up a fight, she figured, and she expected he didn’t much want to deal with her when she was acting contrarian. “You can, but I’m sending Hedwig- er, my owl- with a letter later, so I was gonna let them know anyways.”

“Hedwig?” she had to ask, and she had to smile when his cheeks turned a dull russet red through his own, albeit rather defensive, smile.

“I read the name in the History of Magic book,” he replied with a shrug.

She laughed at that, but the sound rang awkwardly in the empty hall, and her laugh died as quickly as it had been born. “It’s a good choice,” she said instead after a moment, and he looked so thrown off by her approving comment that it would have been funny if it hadn’t been kind of depressing. “She’s the patron saint of orphans and the poor and others struck by misfortune. Pretty fitting for the owl of the savior of the magical world, wouldn’t you say?”

His face fell to its usual annoyed distaste that she wore when he was around her, and she closed her eyes briefly to sigh. Just when they were getting along, too. Maybe he had thought she was making fun of him? She really hadn’t been, honestly. Sure, it was a pretty amusing coincidence that the first name he saw in his History book was the name of his owl, and that it had been a figure much like how the magical world viewed him, but she hadn’t been malicious in her amusement. Whatever. Getting along would be too good to be true, probably.

“Look, just because you’re bitter-”

“I’ll leave it to you to let them know then, I suppose,” she cut him off, ignoring the tension so thick she could cut it with a knife. “Anything more would be redundant.” Actually, accepting an invitation and not sending proper acceptance and gratitude for the offer would be the improper choice, but she supposed she could forgo propriety for mental stability just that once. She stood from the seat, smoothing her black schoolgirl skirt under her green-lined robes, and grabbed her bag from the floor where it rested. “Thank you for informing me of their invitation.”

She made sure to keep her gait casual until she reached her turn, the heavy soles of her shoes beating against the stone in a steady pattern and her hair swaying with her hips, as casual as could be, but once she was around the corner she broke into practically a run, hurtling through the empty halls towards the common room. 

“Foxglove,” she murmured as she reached the main door to the complex, a small smile growing on her lips in relief as the green decor began to come into view. 

As she should have expected, the common room was almost entirely empty. It was dinner time, she realized, something that hadn’t even occurred to her between talking to Oliver and getting away from Oliver. A group of upper years were in their usual corner studying- runes, she was pretty sure- but they had either gotten dinner and come back or else they had done some serious bribing of the house elves to get them to bring food directly to the common room. 

Even the elves didn’t particularly like coming to the Complex, though they didn’t seem to care much at all what House any of the people were in. It wasn’t like it really mattered all that much anyway; since Slytherin had the smallest student body, there was rarely too much of a mess except after parties, and Professor Sinistra would have killed them all if they left  _ that _ sort of mess for the elves to clean up. But it was the principle of the thing, that even among other types of beings altogether, they were still the scary ones, the exception.

She flung herself onto one of the couches by the fire- well, probably more like collapsed, if she was being honest- and watched the flickering of the green and orange flames. Maybe she could just wait there forever, watching the fire and ignoring the rest of the world. She wouldn’t have to go to the Potters’ house over spring break, she wouldn’t have to do any work, there would be no one to disappoint, not a single one, not anywhere. The option was looking more tempting by the minute.

“Lavinia?” came a voice, startling her out of her melodrama. 

She broke her gaze from the flames and sat up to look at the interruption, one that was taking the form of Agatha Selwyn. Agatha was the only other Slytherin who went to breakfast at six a.m., when Lavinia did, and even if they spent the majority of their interactions in perfect silence while doing separate things, she would consider Agatha a friend really just on principle. 

“Are you alright?” the older girl asked, coming around to sit criss-cross beside her. “You looked pretty upset when you came in.”

“I’m fine,” she assured her. “Just… family stuff, you know?”

She bit her lip to hold in a short laugh. “My family’s the least complicated you could possibly imagine. What’s happened?”

“I’m going home for spring,” she told her after only a moment’s hesitation, the word tasting bitter in her mouth. Maybe it would help to talk about it, and she knew Agatha wouldn’t ask if she didn’t actually want to know; that just wasn’t the type of person she was. “Home as in the Potters’ home, with Oliver. He told me just after class.”

“Do you not want to?” 

Lavinia let her head drop into her hands. “I don’t  _ know _ ,” she whined. “Everything about this is stupid.”

Agatha just sniffed. “Pull yourself together,” the third year scolded. “You look like a right idiot like that. You’re an Heiress- act like one.”

Lavinia smothered her snarky response and straightened her back, folding her hands in her lap. “Forgive me. I find myself highly conflicted at the moment, and I’m truly sorry for taking that out on you.”

“Forgiven, of course,” she dismissed. “Go ahead.”

“This is the first time I’ve heard from them all year,” Lavinia told her, choosing her words carefully so that she wouldn’t embarrass herself as she had before. “And even now, I heard it from Oliver, not even a letter to me or anything. So I find myself…  _ surprised _ … and  _ skeptical _ at their sudden attempts at a relationship, and I’m conflicted as to the course of action I wish to take regarding these attempts.”

The flicker of pride in Agatha’s eyes when she acted the Heiress was enough to resolve her slight annoyance at the other girl’s strict enforcement of proper behavior. “You don’t seem so conflicted if you’ve already chosen to accept their invitation,” she pointed out. “You could have asked for time to consider it, or downright refused, or lied and said you had prior arrangements, but you did none of those. It seems like in your heart you’ve already decided.”

“I agreed to give them a week of my life,” Lavinia corrected. “That’s not the same.” She pulled a dark fur throw off the back of the sofa and draped it loosely over her shoulders as she started to feel the chill of the evening in the underground dorms. “I just… I’ve never had any desire for parents,” she said instead. “I grew up with my aunt, and her friend Yvonne was like another aunt, and her son Thomas was like a brother, and, I dunno, I’ve never needed anything else. There’s always that idea everywhere that inevitably, the adopted child will want to find their birth parents, but I’ve just never  _ felt _ that.”

“You feel like going to the Potters’ is betraying your aunt?” Agatha guessed, surprisingly intuitive.

Lavinia nodded. “I don’t know how to get to know them without them replacing Auntie, or trying to. And I don’t want to give them the satisfaction…” she trailed off, not quite sure where she had meant to go with that.

“I’m sorry,” the other girl said after a moment, resting a hand over Lavinia’s. “That sounds like a really shit situation.”

“It is,” she agreed. “And they don’t like Slytherins as it is, you know? And I hate hiding myself like that. It’s not like I can suddenly act like their perfect little lion child- Oliver would never fall for it, not to mention that then they’d suddenly have expectations.” She sighed, pulling her hand from Agatha’s to run it over the braids that she was sure had come undone by then. “I just wish I knew why they chose to act now.”

“Maybe they felt it had been long enough?” Agatha offered. “Like, they missed Yule break- everyone knows you were at the Malfoys’ for that, though I have no idea if the Potters would know- so maybe they felt like missing  _ another _ break would just be pushing it too far. I know I would.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe they feel terrible and want to apologize,” she tried.

“Or maybe they still hate me for being a Slytherin, and they’re only doing this so they can feel good about themselves as parents and make their daring attempt to either quell my Slytherin nature or have an excuse to let me go for good,” she snapped, trying to fight off the pout on her lips.

Agatha blinked. “Very cynical, Evans.”

“Call it Slytherin,” she replied, suddenly tired, or at least suddenly realizing just how tired she really was, and it took the majority of her energy not to slump in on herself. 

“You’re going to be fine,” the older girl told her firmly. “You seem nothing if not adaptable.”

“Thank you,” Lavinia told her honestly. “For letting me vent and everything.”

“Of course,” she dismissed, sounding a little surprised. “Don’t be a stranger, kid. I can always use more friends.” 

Lavinia nodded, and it really was quite the relief to know she had somebody else out there looking out for her, as it was very easy to get caught up in her little four person bubble and never talk to anyone else, but the moment was broken by the entirety of Slytherin House returning from dinner, breaking into a clamor of discussion as soon as they passed through the doors. Agatha shot her a last smile and got up to meet her friends while Lavinia’s group came to join her.

“Why didn’t you come to dinner?” Draco asked, taking the seat on her left.

“Are you doing alright after everything with your brother?” came from Daphne on her right. 

“I came back here after I talked to Oliver. And… yea,” she told Daphne, and maybe it wasn’t the whole story, but it felt true right then. “Yea, I really think so.”

______________

  
  


Her friends took her coming return to Potter Manor in stride, masking their surprise to match her own emotions on the matter, which had stagnated into a somewhat apprehensive acceptance. It wasn’t worth it to worry, she continued to tell herself every time she felt the anxiety building inside her. Homework stopped being done on any functional schedule, and she fell into her old routine of doing all her work in a huge chunk in a fit of anxiety over not doing it in all the time she had just wasted, a routine she’d thought she had kicked a few years ago. She even started losing the precious few hours of sleep she gave herself each night.

“Are you knitting again?” was Pansy’s only comment when she found her in the sitting room at two in the morning a week or so later.

“I stress knit,” Lavinia admitted. “Hey, it’s that or I clear all the furniture in this room so I can dance or wake you all up with piano,” she added at the other girl’s exasperated glare. “Be lucky I’m knitting.”

She sounded a bit wary at that. “It’s a little late in the season for scarves, Evans.”

“I’ll make you all blankets, if it bothers you that much,” she snapped, cutting herself off to take a deep breath and calm her misdirected anger. “Besides, I have all this nice yarn that Daphne got me for Yule; it’d be a shame not to use it.” Not to mention that any single spool of it was probably more expensive than anything she and Auntie owned at all. A few of the spools looked like half the threads were pure gold, and she wasn’t certain enough that she was exaggerating to ask Daphne about it. She’d have to make the girl a wrap or something with it, as a thank you.

They sat in a rather awkward silence for a few moments before Pansy sighed, dropping onto the couch beside her and pulling the completed part of the blanket Lavinia was making over her lap. “Fine, if you’re really going to make me say it,” she muttered. “What’s got you so stressed?”

“Only if you tell me why you’re up at two,” Lavinia challenged. Pansy could sleep through a thunderstorm; Lavinia couldn’t think of anything that could wake her up.

“I just had things to think about,” the other girl told her vaguely. “About what I saw in the mirror, back before Yule,” she admitted at Lavinia’s look. “It shook me up a bit.”

“In a bad way?” she asked, her brow furrowing in concern, and she doubted she would stop feeling that little bit of surprise at her affection for a girl who used to hate her.

“No, no,” Pansy denied. “It was just… unexpected. And it changes a lot of things for me, and my family’s wishes for me. But no, not bad in the least.”

Lavinia was about to reply when a new voice joined the mix.

“Why are you two awake?” asked Daphne through a yawn. “I was up reading when I heard you talking,” she added, seeing the hypocrisy in her own question. “Ooh, and you’re knitting again.”

“This one was about to tell me what’s got her knitting in the middle of night before  _ you _ interrupted, Greengrass,” Pansy told her.

“How are you both so calm about everything?” Lavinia finally burst. “We- we’re reanimating the Dark Lord’s soul, and both of you- and Draco, really- don’t seem affected by it at all. Is this just normal life for magical people? Have you done things like this before? I’m going  _ insane _ over here, and you’re all fine, and I don’t get it.”

“Ah,” Daphne sighed, sitting on Lavinia’s other side and resting a hand on her shoulder. “We haven’t done this before, it’s nothing like that, we just have… different motivations than you, I think, not to mention that we have easily as much practice hiding that we’re freaking our as you do.”

“Huh?”

“Look,” Daphne continued. “You’re doing this because you feel like it all falls on you, that you have to make sure it’s all perfect. To fix all the problems and defend the school, not to mention that you’re the one who has private lessons with the man. We’re just doing this to help you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Pansy cut in drily. “Dray and I don’t want the Dark Lord to murder us. Well, _ I  _ don’t want the Dark Lord to murder  _ me _ \- Draco wants the Dark Lord to reward him and his family and all that.”

“So you…  _ are _ worried?” she checked, trying to make sense of it all and failing dreadfully.

“Of course we are,” Pansy exclaimed. “We’re resurrecting the most dangerous man in the last fifty years’ history, maybe more. But there’s nothing at stake for us if we fail, we know the Dark Lord isn’t going to turn around and kill us anyways when we’re done, and we have nothing else going on in our lives right now. We’re all freaking out here, Evans, just not to the same extent as you, and you’re too wrapped up in your bubble to notice it.”

Lavinia bit her lip. “You really think that?” she asked, her voice barely louder than a breath. Did they really think she just stayed so wrapped up in her own life that she didn’t care about theirs?

Was it true?

“You’re a very busy person,” Daphne told her gently, shooting a glare at Pansy. “You’re always on the go, between normal school and muggle school and all your extra things you keep up with, and private lessons, and this whole project with Not-Quirrell, and quidditch, and-” she shook her head. “You’re doing your best, and we see that, love. But you can get a bit too wrapped up in everything until you don’t notice things around you. I mean, you didn’t notice when Pansy and Draco broke up, or when Tracey and I were fighting until after it was over, and, while we’re  _ all _ aware that you care-” insert another glare at Pansy “-we don’t always respond to things the way you do, and you can confuse that for not responding at all.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and she could already feel her eyes burning with tears or embarrassment or  _ something _ . “You and Draco were dating?” she remembered, turning to Pansy. The other girl just stared in disbelief, and Lavinia winced. “Sorry.”

“Why did you  _ think _ I hated you so much?” 

“I didn’t  _ know _ ,” she shot back defensively. “That’s why it bothered me so much.”

The other girl let her head fall backwards to hit the back of the couch with a thud. “I was jealous, you idiot. Here I was dating a boy, the boy my parents were hoping I’d marry, and here he was half in love with you.”

“Draco is not in love with me,” she denied. 

“He is.”

“He definitely is,” Daphne agreed.

“He’s my best friend,” she argued. “And my sort of cousin. We’re  _ friends _ . That’s it.”

“Whatever you say,” Pansy hummed, clearly not believing her, but not caring enough to argue about it. “Anyways, we’re also less worked up about the Dark Lord thing because we- or at least Draco and I- already knew we supported the Dark Lord. So you have the whole moral conundrum of helping the man who tried to kill you, whereas we’re helping the man we were raised to follow.”

“I don’t- We’re not  _ helping _ him,” Daphne corrected. “We’re helping Quirrell, certainly, and we’re helping ourselves. We’re just trying to get the Dark Lord, you know, away from here. We’re trying to be safe.”

“Exactly,” Lavinia agreed, relieved that someone else saw her point of view. She certainly wasn’t attempting to help her family’s attempted murderer, she was just attempting to get rid of him. “Honestly, we could even make the argument that we’re helping Dumbledore just as much as we’re helping the Dark Lord, what with keeping him from stealing the Stone.”

“Oh? We’re keeping him from stealing the stone now?” Pansy asked, her eyebrows shooting up practically into her hairline.

“He won’t need it if he already has a body, Pansy,” Daphne told her. “He won’t be a danger to the school anymore. He can just… leave. Go do whatever it is that he does,” she added, gesturing vaguely.

“And I believe that from you, Greengrass,” Pansy replied. “But this one’s too conflicted looking. Not to mention that every political opinion she’s voiced lines up with Dark politics.”

“What’s your point, Pansy?” she asked tiredly. “You think I’m doing this because I’m all in on the support my family’s attempted murderer train rather than just wanting the rest of the school year to be free of trolls and Dark Lords and Cerberuses? Go ahead, it doesn’t change anything.”

“I just think you need to think about what it means to be here,” she replied, and there was a sense of finality to her words that bothered Lavinia. “In Slytherin, in the magical world. You can’t be on both sides at once. Just… just think about that for me. Think about what it all means for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s a wrap!! This chapter took forever because i’ve been busy studying for exams (if any of y’all are taking AP tests like me,,,, good luck). However, they’ll be over in the next few days and updates for this story and my others will pick back up again, and my goal is to update each of my stories once a week. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know what you thought in the comments, and check out my tumblr @venus-ink !!!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavinia's found herself in a bit of an ethical conundrum, Tom can't figure out why he keeps oversharing, and the Potters are an extra piece to the puzzle that absolutely no one asked for.

Pansy’s admission couldn’t have come at a worse time if she had tried. It was one thing to be stressed about family and school, another thing to have to add possibly-homicidal-Dark-Lord into the mix, but now to have to overanalyze the moral confliction that went into her motivations of each action regarding each of those things? It was too much.  _ Far _ too much.

Did she somehow, deep down, want to help the Dark Lord? She had spoken in depth about the politics of the last war with Lady Miera, of course, but she had never really believed there would be much of a use for all the knowledge. It seemed a bit abstract, especially given that the war not only ended when she was a baby, but  _ because _ of an event she was technically there for, and no one really outright talked about the war that she had seen, though of course she was only in school. It was like she had spent years studying the trolley problem but had only now realized she was in fact driving a trolley at that exact moment, and everything around her could be destroyed with one action or inaction, and she had no idea which.

She agreed mostly with most things the Dark Lord had pushed for, or at least what the overall Dark party did, as Lady Miera had admitted that the Dark Lord himself was somewhere between a figurehead and a puppetmaster, and according to her friends, he had also gone entirely mad by the time he died. Or, didn’t die, she supposed. When it came down to it, she knew her beliefs fell in line with the Dark party’s ideals, and that didn’t particularly bother her.

But was that the same as actually  _ supporting _ the Dark Lord himself? She certainly didn’t support  _ murder _ \- honestly, she had never even heard a particularly good argument for war- but was destruction his method or his ideal? He had been… effective, if she was being honest. Not with the mass murder of course, that didn’t appear to have much of a purpose, but his followers had been really quite well organized, pushing back against legislation that would put the Magical world in danger, that would strip away their culture. But the negatives seemed to outway the positives, really. He led an extremist group, and the methods were deeply relevant, not just little quirks to the process.

She let her head fall back against the couch with a groan.

So if she…  _ didn’t _ support the Dark Lord, which she had decided quite firmly was her position on the issue, an issue which she had consequentially decided never to think about it again, then what was she doing saving him? It had been so simple before; Professor Quirrell was possessed, so they would get the other soul out. Easy as that. When they had learned who it was doing the possessing, it only added more motivation to get the soul out. And yet…. No, it couldn’t possibly be the better option to just leave him in there. That was a position she planned to stand by. She couldn’t go the rest of the year- or, hell, the rest of her Hogwarts years- taught by Lord bloody Voldemort himself, nor did she want to spend the rest of the year dealing with trolls and Cerberuses and the Headmaster’s stupid mirror. It was supposed to be nice, peaceful. It was supposed to be perfect. And if she couldn’t have it perfect, she would do her best to make it so.

She would just have to be able to look past the part where she was giving the most dangerous man in Britain total personal agency and not telling the authorities. Couldn’t be too hard, right?

It took about five seconds until she decided to throw that one out.

It appeared she would have to actually accept the fact that she might be acting directly against everything her family stood for, which wasn’t too hard, but also that she somewhat held the fate of society in her hands, and she was about to do everything in her own self interest. 

What would the Dark Lord even do when he realized who had brought him back to life? She could certainly hope Pansy received the recognition she craved from the Dark Lord and his followers- Draco as well, should he want it-, but she wasn’t the child of his oldest followers, she was the child of his enemy, and the sister of his greater enemy. At least it wasn’t like someone would be  _ angry _ about being brought back to life, right?

It was all a problem for another day, really, she had to sigh, but she wasn’t sure what day would ever come for it all.

And that wasn’t even tying in the other things the girls had brought up. She hated to think she had been neglecting her friends, and then whatever they thought was going on with Draco and her was even stranger. Honestly, she called his mother Aunt; she didn’t really scream “relationship material”. And he was her best friend. They were close because they were friends. She could have friends without it needing to become more. Really, Pansy had to be seeing things- just because she and Draco didn’t work out didn’t mean that he liked  _ her _ instead.

“Lav? Lav?” Dark fingers snapped in her face. “Don’t you have lessons tonight? It’s almost ten.”

“Don’t call me Lav,” she grouched, the rest of the sentence not catching up for a few seconds, her face dropping and her eyes flying open. “Fuck.”

“Language,” Draco scolded, not looking up from the wizards’ fashion magazine that he’d had his nose buried in for the past hour. 

“No, it’s- I need- shit, shit shit,” she cursed, throwing her things in her bag and rushing to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

She hadn’t really planned for lessons that night, as it was the last night before the spring break, but Quirrell had cornered her earlier during class, seeing how she was shooting the basic disarming spell hard enough to send Draco halfway across the room, and offered one last duel before school let out, and she wasn’t very well going to turn it down.

She had no idea what a real duel with him would look like, really, but she was already practically bouncing with excitement. He was an extremely talented duelist and a difficult opponent, obviously, but it wasn’t as though he kept it secret that he had been going quite easy on her, and she couldn’t find it in herself to be offended, as he clearly explained his reasoning as being for her own benefit, as she wouldn’t have the opportunity to properly cultivate her skills when she could barely get a spell in.

She didn’t think she would be entirely hopeless against him, but she really didn’t know. Duelling with Astok was so different from duelling with Quirrell; she still wasn’t quite accustomed to using her wand, just her own magic, and so it took a whole different type of fighting. Fighting with wands was both more and less predictable, more and less choreographed than fighting without. The movements with wands were so precise, the words had to be uttered a certain way, connected just right for the most power, where brunt force and trickery seemed more raw, but were just as reactionary in reality. 

She pulled on the duelling outfit she had gotten for Yule from the Malfoys, snug dragonhide pants, half open robes of a lightweight leather and Acromantula silk, with boots that laced half up her calves and fingerless leather gloves. A lot of leather seemed to be the general pattern for duelling robes, but it was surprisingly a lot less constricting than she would imagine something made out of thick, heavy fabric would be. She had stitched a few basic runes into the collar as well, under Professor McGonagall’s supervision, and a glance in the mirror had her feeling like she was truly going to battle. She wrestled her hair into a braid and tried to pin her bangs back three times before she gave up. She would probably just have to trim them the next time she had a chance- really, it seemed a bit ridiculous that everyone at Hogwarts just waited a year between haircuts, though she wasn’t one to talk with her hair long past her waist.

She strapped her wand to her forearm after casting a muffling spell on the heavy soles of her shoes so she wouldn’t be noticed too much on her walk to the Professor’s rooms, as she wasn’t exactly dressed to blend in. No, she was dressed to fight, and she couldn’t be more excited.

She called a goodnight to her friends as she dashed through the sitting room and down the stairs, weaving through the Complex and flying down the corridors until she she skidded to a halt outside the Professor’s office, a little too keenly aware that she was about to duel the Dark Lord himself as a form of stress relief.

At least it was generally a pretty effective form as it was.

Tom cast another _ tempus _ , the fourth in the last fifteen or so minutes. It was past ten by a bit, and he had to wonder if the Evans girl had forgotten they were going to have lessons. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, really, but he had rather looked forward to getting to really duel her. They were always too busy working on some new spell or technique to just get down and fight, and he was sure it would be quite informative to see just how good the girl was. She had clearly had training before him, even if she wrote it off as Muggle martial arts, and it was really a lovely scheme on his part, he assured himself, to get the Boy-Who-Lived’s sister to show her hand. That was the only reason he cared. Obviously.

Otherwise he would have to have gotten  _ attached _ or something.

He was about to give up and pick up his book when he heard a knock at his door.

“Deepest apologies for the tardiness,” she told him, a bit out of breath, when the door swung open. “Can’t say I’m much accustomed to all-” she gestured at her outfit- “this. It took a minute, really.”

“Already forgotten,” he dismissed, huffing a small laugh. The first time he’d worn proper duelling attire, he’d been about two years her senior, and it had taken him almost an hour to get fully into it all. He could still remember Avery sitting on his bed watching and laughing as he struggled, flipping through the newspaper until he finally gave in and offered a hand. “It’s been far too long since I’ve worn them myself.” 

It really did feel strange to be dressed for battle while still looking like Quirinus Quirrell, a man who could make the most basic of clothes look like the most awkward garments there were, and yet at the same time it felt natural. All he had worn for years before his unfortunate partial demise were battle robes and duelling robes, and for the first time in those years, he felt a bit more like himself.

She dropped into her usual chair and accepted the cup of tea he offered, rewarming it as it had gotten a bit cold in the time he had waited. While she drank, he finally took a moment to look at his student, dressed in robes that reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t figure out who, and he couldn’t help but think she looked surprisingly at home in the stately attire, even curled up in an armchair with a cup of tea.

“So,” he spoke up after a moment. “How has your week been?”

She was watching him rather intently, so he had figured she was paying attention, but she continued to stare a bit emptily.

“Miss Evans?” he asked, looking at her expectantly.

“Hm? Sorry,” she hurried to add, jolting upright in an uncharacteristic display of discomfort. “Could you repeat that?”

He inclined his head politely. “I simply asked how your week has gone. You seemed ready to kill the young Mister Malfoy in class earlier today.”

“Just overestimated the power for the spell,” she denied immediately, tracing the stitches on the neck of her robes as he sent her a skeptical sort of look. “And, erm, I’m… going to the Potters’ over break,” she added. “So, you know, I’ve been a bit stressed about all that. They’re not, erm, Slytherin fans, you know.” 

Not Slytherin fans, indeed. He could only imagine. “Ah, yes, Mister Potter,” he agreed, a sneer curling his lip. “Such, how shall we say,  _ overestimated _ potential.”

She stifled a snort at that. 

“I am sorry to hear that your plans are so distressing,” he told her. “I myself wasn’t one to go home for holidays, but I must say I do understand going home to a place you don’t want to be.” Merlin, those summers during his Hogwarts years never got easier until he started staying with Abraxas Malfoy for them, and it was no thanks to the illustrious Deputy Headmaster. Back in his days, of course, the Headmaster himself would remain a bit more behind the scenes of the school, a position more focused on management, leaving Dumbledore in the position to take care of students, not that he did much in that area. Sending children to homes they would prefer never to set foot in again seemed to be his favorite hobby.

“Did you not get along with your family, sir?” she asked then, seeming to jump at the subject change.

“That is… one way to put it.” Why had he even started on that train of thought? He set down his cup and returned his wand to its holster. “Now, I don’t have a new spell for you this evening, I’m afraid,” he continued. “You’ve been studying under me for the better part of eight months now, so I thought we could try a real duel, only for the purpose of assessing your skills, rather than to work on anything new. I warded the trophy room a bit earlier, so that should work well enough for our needs.”

“That sounds lovely,” she told him honestly. 

He led her to their usual practice space, but this time he had laid the wards so thick he could see them, and he figured she could too by her wide-eyed scan of the room. The wards stretched to the trophy cases on each wall, protecting what was already supposedly spell-proofed glass, though he knew that one was wrong- he had shattered the glass in front of his own award once when he was a sixth year- but he trusted the floor and ceiling to protect themselves.

“Basic recreational duelling standards?” he demanded, waving his hand at her as he drew lines on the floor with his wand, marking an x through the room with ticks between them.

“All spells following the Approved List of Spells of Great Britain, nothing that cannot be healed by the most experienced person present for the duel, nothing with lasting harmful effects,” she recited. “No seconds, first yield ends the duel.”

“Good. Warm up?”

She chewed on her lip. “First year spells only?” she suggested. 

“If you wish,” he agreed evenly. She was so far past first year spells by then that it was almost funny, and not in the way the Granger girl was, where she had memorized second year textbooks and referenced them in her answers- something which he found highly frustrating, as it accomplished nothing but confusing the rest of the class on basic topics- but Evans was ahead in the sense that she had better control over her magic than anyone he had seen, and she had no trouble picking up highly advanced spells, ones that never made it on the curriculum. But it was her temperament that made her the most interesting to go against, really. She was perfectly prim and proper all other times, but the girl fought dirty in a duel. “On your mark.”

She crossed to face him in the center of the room, snapped her wand into her hand, and hesitated. Slowly, carefully, she bowed, and Tom matched her movements with his own. They extended their wands towards the other, the dark wood against her own pale one as they bowed again, before turning to the outside of the room. The seven steps felt like she was walking the path to hell.

“ _ Locomotor Mortis _ ,” she cast, whipping back around, but the spell missed its mark.

“That’s the best you can do?” he asked, purple light streaming back from his wand in a slew of spells aimed for her feet.

She leapt into the air before they could reach her, throwing herself into practically a split to miss the higher cast ones. “ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ ,” she muttered, her wand aimed at his shoes.

The funny thing about spells cast at a point practically at ground level was that all one had to do to dodge was step back. Which he did. While laughing. 

He hadn’t broken his laid back manner, and hadn’t sent another spell since the first attack, and it only incited her further. She sent a tripping jinx, then another, then another, all of which he countered before they reached him.

“ _ Tergeo _ ,” she called, and he blocked it, but a moment after that his legs locked together. 

“Bloody hell, girl,” he muttered, reversing the spell and shooting a few back. He really was out of practice, or at least underestimating her. He sent his spells wordlessly, hoping to throw her off, but her last tutor must have been heavy on the dodging portion of duelling because she wove between them effortlessly. 

“How the hell are you doing that?” he called, sending a slew of tripping jinxes that she dodged by throwing herself into practically a backbend and snapping back up just as quickly to shoot a levitating charm at his wand hand.

“A decade of dance?” she suggested with a grin. 

“It makes me want to pick up ballet,” he admitted drily. 

“Well,  _ I _ ,” she replied, pausing to shoot another siphoning spell at his chest this time, which he easily reversed and sent back at her, “can teach you. If you want.”

“You’re going to teach me ballet,” he repeated, a bit skeptical. It was perfectly normal in the magical world, at least- hell, Abraxas Malfoy had spent the last three years of Hogwarts debating dropping out for dance or graduating and taking up his Lordship- but he couldn’t help thinking of the boy he had been at her age, trapped in a too small room in a half empty orphanage, spending all his time writing in his little stolen diary and trying to learn magic, trying to be the very  _ best _ at magic, and he tried to imagine that little boy learning ballet.

He would have died or close to it at the orphanage as a bloody ballerina boy, of that he was quite sure. Unless he had been some sort of prodigy, he would have gotten nothing out of dancing but another reason to be called a freak, but if he had known someone like Lavinia Evans back then, a girl with just as much ambition, just as much spite, but so much goddamn life in her eyes, he would have gladly learned ballet from her, and probably benefited from it as well.

“I’ll consider it,” he agreed tentatively, and her smile practically lit up the dim room. He sent a volley of spells at her wordlessly, and her smile dropped into something more focused.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” she muttered, aiming for his turban. It wasn’t strong enough to rip it off but it would probably be distracting enough to get his hands off his wand and up to his head.

The spell made impact, but the moment it did, she was flung back against the wall, and the sound her head made hitting the trophy case echoed around the room. She groaned at the feeling and threw up a wandless shield, knowing it would be a lot easier to keep up in her current state, even if it would be more exhausting in the long run. Quirrell continued to shoot spells at her, and she could feel the shield weakening, so she forced herself to her feet and recast it with a wand. 

“ _ Tarentellegra _ ,” she cast, letting the spell shoot from her hand in six parts that wrapped around him before reforming. He dispelled four of them before they got to him, so it was quite weak by the time it joined back together and hit him, but the other two hit, and he actually looking quite proud.

Lavinia wasn’t quite sure why, but even in a practice duel, she wanted to impress him. Maybe because he was the bloody Dark Lord, and she would rather him be impressed than anything else, anything that could put her in danger. As long as she was shiny enough to be taken back to the crows nest, she was safe. But it seemed to go past that, for her at least. She wanted to impress her tutor, the man who had been meeting her for months and seeing her get better and better under his watch. Sure, he was the Dark Lord, but she honestly just… liked him. She enjoyed his company. Really, it was all entirely too unfair that the man she liked couldn’t have actually been her teacher, rather than the homicidal maniac possessing him.

“This is boring,” she called, shooting an arc of cleaning charms that he blocked. “I think I’m warmed up enough, don’t you?”

The bird conjured directly into her face were all the answer she needed.

She sent the birds back at him, tossing up a wandless shield with her right hand. “ _ Accio _ ,” she murmured, jerking her wand up from his feet to his stomach at the last moment.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed as it made contact, forcing him to double over as he countered it. 

“May or may not have tried to summon your kidney,” she admitted, throwing herself to the ground to dodge what she was pretty sure was a tickling spell.

“ _ Expelliarmus- _ ”

“ _ Alarte Ascendare _ -”

“ _ Mutatio Skullus _ -”

“The  _ fuck _ , child?  _ Exoculo- _ ”

“You fucking…  _ Brackium Emendo _ ,” she ground out, trying to strengthen her shield as she healed her leg. Her leg felt like it had been set on fire, between the actual bone-breaking curse and the healing spell directly after, but at least she could put weight on it. She ground her teeth to keep from crying out as her leg threatened to give, but she sent another round of definitely legal spells in a figure eight sort of shape and threw herself into a roll to dodge his returning volley, giving her the opportunity to kick at his shin, which, given, didn’t knock him over how she was hoping it would, but did gain her a look of approval as he shattered her shield with a close range curse.

She wasn’t sure how long they duelled for, but it felt like hours, during which time she lost at least four times, though she almost won once. She couldn’t even bring herself to be upset, she was so high on the aftermath of a fight.

They had returned to his office by two or so, and he’d had to practically carry her after she hadn’t managed to dodge a bone crushing spell. He’d healed her of course, and she’d have no lasting damage, but she’d be pretty damn sore for a day or two. 

She had her feet up on his coffee table, a move he hated, not that she really cared when it was his fault in the first place, and he’d given her a bag of ice to rest on her leg. She’d discarded the outer few layers of robes, so she was left in just a white t-shirt and black night shorts, and her head was falling to the side of the chair every few minutes while she fought to stay awake.

“I don’t think I know what I want from them,” she spoke up, stirring a sugar cube into her tea in a tiny display of wandless magic. 

“The Potters?” he asked.

“Yes. I don’t know what they could do that would satisfy this feeling- this  _ anger _ ,” she continued. “I wish they would leave me alone, but I was angry that they didn’t write me. I’m glad they invited me for Spring, but I don’t actually want to go, but I agreed to go anyways. I’d almost say I just want an opportunity to reject them, but I got one, and I didn’t take it.” She sighed. “I suppose I just wish they’d never given me up in the first place, but I’m still glad I grew up with Auntie. It doesn’t make any sense.”

He didn’t reply for a long time, long enough that she had to wonder if she’d said something entirely inappropriate to discuss with her professor and made him dreadfully uncomfortable. She’d opened her mouth to apologize when he finally spoke up.

“I met my father once.”

She blinked. He’d said he was an orphan, so did he mean Quirrel? Did he mean  _ Voldemort _ , or whoever Voldemort actually was? 

“I went looking for him, around my… fourth year? Yes, I think I started looking around then, but I didn’t find him until the summer before sixth. I hadn’t even been sure why I was looking in the first place, you understand. I didn’t know him, I knew nothing about him. I resented him, in many ways, for leaving my mother, for leaving me. If anyone had asked, I would have told them I didn’t care, and it would have been the truth. But still, I went looking. I didn’t know what I wanted from him, but I wanted to know what I would get.”

“Closure,” she supplied. 

“Some would call it that,” he agreed. 

“What was he like?” she had to ask.

“Normal, I suppose. In the meek, boring sort of way.

Alright, so he was definitely talking about Voldemort then. He didn’t seem like he was going to say anything else. “What happened?” 

“We fought,” he told her simply. “We fought, and I left, and he passed away before I saw him again.”

Well, that wasn’t quite what she had expected. “I-I’m so sorry,” she stammered.

He looked at her curiously. “No need for that,” he dismissed. “You hear it from people, too, don’t you? That they’re sorry about what happened, and yet you can’t quite figure out why. You know why they say it, of course, it’s the natural response, and yet you’re not sorry yourself, are you. You’re not sorry at all.”

The train came at noon.

She sat with Draco and Theodore, as Daphne and Pansy were being picked up by their parents later that day. It was nice to have a few hours where there was absolutely nothing they had to do, and nothing they even really  _ could _ do, as Theodore didn’t know anything about their plans with Not-Quirrell. She couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of him, really, blissfully unaware of anything that was going on in the school; no three headed dogs, no creepy mirrors, no teachers pretending they didn’t have Dark Lords piggybacking on their brains. For Theodore, ir was really just… school. He worried about classes and friends and things. It sounded lovely.

The magical side of King’s Cross Station was just how she remembered it, just a little less crowded, as picking a child up wasn’t quite the family activity that sending them off was. It was hard to see anything through all the people and their floating baggage, and she hoped no one was saying anything important, as she could really only make out little snippets of greetings to people she didn’t know.

“I should, erm, get going,” she told her friends reluctantly. “Probably wouldn’t start the holidays on a good foot to be seen with…”

“Slytherins,” Draco supplied, so that she wouldn’t have to voice the real issue. “Of course.” He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Write me,” he told her. “And if anything really bad happens, take the first floo you see to Malfoy Manor. You’ll need to say  _ sanctimonia vincet semper _ to get through.”

“Purity will always conquer?” she repeated, hiding her amusement behind pursed lips and disapproval. “Why is your family so pretentious, darling?”

“It’s in our blood,” he replied primly. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t let the lions bring you down.”

She didn’t want to let go, but she didn’t really have much of a choice. Oliver had been in a compartment near the front of the train, where they had taken one near the back, so she would have to catch up with him fast if she wanted to find the Potters.

He may have been waiting for her, or he was just waiting for a bit more of an opening in the stream of teenagers leaving the train, but either way, he was still there when she had fought her way to the front of the train, and for that she was grateful, so she shot him a smile that he didn’t quite return, and slipped into his compartment before a tight knit group of Hufflepuffs plowed her over. 

“ _ Diminuendo, _ ” she cast, noticing that he was struggling to get his trunk off the rack. “ _ Accio. _ Here,” she offered, holding out the trunk that was not about the size of her hand.

He took it, but didn’t say anything, not even meeting her eyes as he shoved the thing in his pocket and pushed past her into the hall.

She took a long breath.  _ Patience _ , she reminded herself. It was the only way she’d survive the next week. She ignored the questions Oliver’s friends had already begun to bombard her with and dashed to catch up with her twin. 

It was only a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! 5k words about a month after I planned to give it to you (oops). I wanted to write more of the duel, but I had very little inspiration for it, and I figured it was better to cut it short than write it poorly. Next chapter, we'll see the Potter family in action; I've already started writing it and I'm honestly really excited to explore their dynamics more!! It shouldn't take long to write since exams are over and I actually know where I'm going with this chapter, but I make no promises because I may or may not have started yet another WIP.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, pretty please drop a comment telling me what you thought, and go check out my tumblr @venus-ink!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My spring break was better than Lavinia's, and I spent it sick with the coronavirus.

Two days in, and she had already decided that it was the longest week she’d had, possibly ever.

Well, no, that was a bad place to start.

The moment she got off the Hogwarts Express, she was immediately knocked flat on her ass by two redheaded devils. 

“Princess!” they exclaimed, pulling her to her feet and dragging her off in some direction without asking. “Headed off with Ollie, we heard,” one added. “Ronniekins was complaining about it,” the other clarified. 

She nodded but frowned. “Why would your brother care?”

“He wanted to go to the Manor over break, but we hear your mum and dad wouldn’t let him,” the first one who she identified as Fred told her. “Something about quality family time,” George added. “He wants to be a Potter so bad.” The twins looked at each other and burst into peals of laughter that she couldn’t help but join them in.

“I’d gladly switch with him,” she sighed. “Holy Morgana, for the first time in my life, I’m actually dreading break.”

Which was a highly strange realization, she may add. She’d had to finally tell her friends that no, she wouldn’t be returning home until summer, and their reactions had been about as expected. It worried her, to think that she’d go an entire year without seeing them, especially when she wasn’t used to going more than a few days, and she already couldn’t help but get that nagging worry that they would have changed, or she would have changed, or they would have moved on.

But those were silly things to worry about, not just because they were certainly not true, but also because there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She wrote them every week at least, and they always wrote back, so there really wasn’t much left. She’d see them over summer, and that would have to be enough. If anyone could make something like that work, it would be them, right?

“Don’t be all like that,” Fred scolded. “Besides, if it gets bad enough, you can always come stay with us,” George added.

“You sound like Draco,” she informed them, laughing at their failed attempts at hiding their grimaces. “He’s already given me the speech about how I can always leave and stay at Malfoy Manor- even gave me all the instructions on how to floo there.”

“Well, I suppose we can’t really compete with Malfoy Manor,” Fred lamented, looking to his brother and wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “So true, dear brother,” George sighed. “Why would the princess stay with us when she can have peacocks and three fainting couches in every room, just in case?”

“Albino peacocks, actually,” she corrected absently, scanning the station for the inevitable number of reporters flocking around the Potters.

“Wait, actually?” George repeated, dropping the overdramatic act. “They actually have-”

“Albino peacocks circling the Manor, yes. Like a lot of them. Like a good hundred albino peacocks. It’s kind of terrifying, actually. Do you know where Oliver went?”

“We’re taking you there, don’t you worry, princess,” Fred assured her. “They’re standing with Mum, and she always stands at the same place.”

She let the boys drag her to where a mob of redheads was crowded around one of the columns, James Potter being the only exception. She wondered if the man had considered dying his hair just to fit in. A mildly disturbing realization was that she actually looked quite a lot like him, same dark curls, just longer, same sharp features and pale skin and short build. Really the only things she didn’t have from him were the green eyes, and those didn’t look much like Lily’s as it was.

“Mum, this is Lavinia,” George had to almost shout over the noise. “We’ve talked about her in our letters.”

The woman who must have been Mrs. Weasley gave them a deer in the headlights sort of look and glanced at Lily with wide eyes and a plastered on smile. “I didn’t realize you meant- I mean I thought it was a different-” she cut off and turned her smile on Lavinia. “It’s lovely to meet you, dear. Fred and George speak so highly of you.”

Lavinia ducked her head in an awkward bow. “Merry meet, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh, none of that here, dear,” Mrs. Weasley scolded, pulling her in for a tight hug that would have been nice if it didn’t feel just sort of wrong, even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. When the woman finally let her go, Lavinia tried to step back and use Fred and George as the human shield she had intended for them to be, but she only had a moment before she was passed over to Lily.

“We’re really glad you agreed to come visit,” Lily whispered in her ear, and she actually seemed to mean it from the hopeful smile and  _ extremely _ careful embrace.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she settled on. She had studied the proper conduct for so many situations and interactions, but for some reason, visiting your somewhat estranged parents for spring break didn’t quite make the syllabus. Honestly, she wondered sometimes if tutoring was a good or bad idea in the long run. Oh, she knew how to do the social dance, but dancing only worked if your partner was skilled enough to keep up or prepared to follow your lead. The Potters didn’t follow the steps, they didn’t play the game, and she found that she was the one who had no idea what to do.

They hadn’t even technically invited her. They couldn’t even be bothered to send a letter- though, to be fair, they might have worried that she would have ignored it. Not that she would have, of course. That would be highly improper. 

Oliver was glaring at her again, and so was his friend. It wasn’t even that she minded that he didn’t like her, it was just that he didn’t even  _ know _ her. You weren’t supposed to openly dislike someone who you had never had a real conversation with.

There were  _ rules _ , and the Potters refused to follow them. It was miserable.

“Oh, we should get going before the reporters hold us up,” Lily sighed. “It was lovely seeing you Molly, Arthur.”

The twins pulled her aside while the goodbyes stretched on, and Lavinia was reminded of how Auntie and Yvonne would talk when she and Thomas had playdates when they were little. They would always say how, oh, it was time to go, and oh, they wouldn’t want to be late for dinner, but she and Thomas would get hours and hours of extra playtime before they meant their goodbyes.

“I’ll miss you two,” she admitted, her lips pulling down into a pout.

“We’ll write,” they promised, in perfect unison. “It’ll be like we were never apart, princess, not for even a moment,” George proclaimed with a grin, giving her a sweeping bow and kissing her hand, and she instinctively fell into a curtsey in reply. “Farewell, fair maiden,” he added.

“Farewell, good sir,” she teased. 

“Lavinia,” James was already calling, before she could add anything else. “Come on.”

She blew out a long breath. One week. One week was all she had to get through. She had been training for these types of situations for years; what kind of heiress would she be if she couldn’t make it through a few days of casual interaction with people she didn’t like? What kind of politician would she be?

She sent a shallow bow towards the Weasleys, figuring she could still go through the proper motions even if no one else would. That would have to be her strategy. Whatever they wanted to do was their right, and whatever she wanted to do would be hers, no matter what sort of impression they thought it sent.

She followed the Potters to the public floo, and let Lily take her through, not quite making out the password that she muttered before they got into the house. Did they not want her to have it? Or had they just not thought to give it to her? 

It rather summed up her entire experience with the Potters. Did they want her to feel like a guest, or did they simply not care enough to make her feel like family? She didn’t really know. The only question was how much she cared.

She was once again floored by the sheer size of the Potter estate, and she scolded herself internally for it. It seemed that most upper class families lived in estates similar to the Potters’, and she would have get used to it eventually, lest she embarrass herself at some incredibly awkward time.

James laughed when he saw her practically gaping. “A bit bigger than what you’re used to, eh?” he joked, ignoring Lily’s elbow jabbing into his ribs.

She smiled tightly. “Just a bit, sir. Erm, have you all always lived here?” She cursed herself for bringing up something they’d probably already told her, but Morgana, anything to not bring up Auntie.

“James grew up here,” Lily told her, sounding just as grateful for the subject change and leading her into the parlor to sit down, though James murmured something she couldn’t quite make out and hurried to a room in the opposite direction.

Lily snapped her fingers to call an elf, Trixy, if she remembered right, to take her trunk to her room. Lavinia wasn’t sure where Oliver had gone, probably his room, but he had gotten away pretty quick if she already couldn’t find him. 

“We had a little house in Godric’s Hallow,” she continued. “It’s a little Magic neighborhood adjacent to a Muggle town, and we lived there for a while, but… well, after the attack, and then the attempts after it, we needed somewhere safer. James’s parents had passed away, so we moved back to the Manor and we’ve been here since.” She smiled, but it was the fake sort of one like Lavinia had learned to keep pasted on in etiquette training. “It’s been lovely here, really.”

“It does seem quite magical,” she agreed, twisting her hands in her pockets. 

“Yes,” Lily repeated, and the moment held for a very awkward minute until she jolted out of it with a wide smile. “Can I get you anything? Tea, or-”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” Lavinia rushed to reply. “I must admit, I’m growing a bit sick of pumpkin juice.”

“Oh, I said just the same thing,” she laughed. “I remember being at the sorting feast my very first year, and James had to explain to me how to even get a drink into one of the goblets.” She shook her head fondly. “He ordered me pumpkin juice, and I spit it out all over his robes. We had to get a prefect to cast a cleaning charm.”

Lavinia couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping her lips, and she could feel a bit of the tension in the room lift as the older woman brought a tea tray over and sat down beside her on the couch.

“Were you friends from the beginning, then?” she asked, thinking of the friends she’d made right at the beginning of the year. It seemed almost silly to imagine actually marrying one of them, but it seemed even sillier to imagine there being a time in her life that they weren’t part of. 

“No, no, we weren’t friends until- oh, fifth or sixth year, I suppose,” she denied. “Your father”- Lavinia winced at the word, but Lily didn't appear to notice- “wasn’t always the most mature of boys,” Lily told her, giving her the look that women tended to share when men were being stupid. “And he wasn’t always the nicest, and he directed a lot of that at a good friend of mine.”

_ Good to know, _ she supposed, filing that information away for later. She doubted she would end up with someone who bullied her best friends, but they were young, and she figured people could change a lot with time. Regardless, it was interesting to learn that James was a dick from the start. Maybe that was what growing up rich did to a person, though she hated to think it. She thought over her own friends and had to concede the point. She loved them, but, while they were all many things,  _ nice _ was not necessarily one of them. 

But she had just figured that was a Slytherin trait- not cruelty, but selective affection, and selective effort. 

“Did they ever make up? James and your friend?”

Any warmth that the woman had mustered disappeared in a split second, and Lavinia was surprised to find as she cursed herself that she was actually somewhat disappointed that the moment had passed. 

“People go their separate ways, you know how it is,” was what she chose to say, her smile a tight reflection of happiness, and her words came out just a little too quickly.

“Right, of course.” Lily gave no reaction, and she sighed. “I should really be getting around to unpacking, if you don’t mind, of course, and I was hoping to finish my essay for-”

“If that’s what you want,” she agreed, too easily. “Call Trixy if you need anything.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Lavinia murmured, bowing politely, though she knew it wouldn’t be returned, and leaving the parlor at the closest thing to a run that she could get away with without being dreadfully rude.

Ten bloody minutes. She could barely make it ten bloody minutes before it was all messed up enough that she had to leave to go hide up in her bedroom. She was an  _ heiress _ , she was going to be a  _ Lady _ , and she couldn’t even handle polite conversation.

_ Lily Potter is practically a Lady, and she couldn’t do it either _ , the little voice in her head reminded her.

Practically being the operative word, of course, seeing as James had never accepted his Lordship. And Lily hadn’t been raised for the role practically from birth either. But Lily was her  _ mother _ , the more reasonable part of her brain argued. It didn’t matter what their ranks were, it just didn’t, not when Lily had an obligation-

She  _ didn’t _ , though, Lavinia decided. Or maybe she did, but if she wasn’t going to acknowledge it, then it wasn’t worth getting hung up on. If the Potters weren’t accepting their roles as her parents, then she had no obligation whatsoever so acknowledge her role as their child. They had deemed the relationship a professional one, by all indications through their actions, and that was something she could understand.

The voice in her head sounded like Lady Miera now, saying  _ they have no power over you unless you let them _ . She could choose what dynamic she wanted with the Potters, and she didn’t have to pick one where they had anything on her. She was an heiress. James was an heir. In all social understandings, they were, for all intents and purposes, peers. That was more in theory than in general practice, of course, but the sentiment remained. 

“I am Lavinia Hyadette Evans,” she muttered to herself, swinging around the railing and listening to the sound of her boots knocking against the marble reverberate through the foyer, squeezing the little compass around her neck between her fingers, “and I will not be lost. Not here, not ever.”

She hated that her room was so pretty. It was empty, still, which made it a good bit less interesting than any other, but the queen sized bed had a gorgeous canopy of shiny, draping fabrics in various shades between cream and gold that made her feel like she was inside a ray of sunshine, and the windows were sweeping archways in a row on one wall, and if she actually unpacked all her clothes and shoes and jewelry, she knew she’d be eternally grateful for the immense closet.

Why couldn’t it be ugly, just a little? They deserved it.  _ She  _ deserved it.

There were only a few more hours until dinner, which she’d been informed would be at six o’clock promptly. Family dinner, really, and wasn’t that a funny thought. Family dinner usually meant her, Auntie, Yvonne, and Thomas. Now it meant… whatever this was.

She called the elves in to say hello again, and honestly if she didn’t get anything else out of the week at the Potters’, she would be glad she got to see the little elves again. They tackled her in hugs and asked her all sorts of questions right over each other until she was smiling, trying to answer them all. 

They asked her to play piano for them, and she did, though she noticed she was a bit out of practice. She simply hadn’t had time for it, since she only really had access to the piano when no one else was in the common room. There was something calming about going through the familiar motions with the elves surrounding her and smiling.

She was disappointed when Trixy popped in at half ‘til six to remind her to get ready, but she had the whole week, she supposed. She was sure there would be other opportunities to hole up in her bedroom.

She rooted through her trunk, trying to figure out what she wanted to wear. She usually found herself preferring Muggle clothes, but at the same time, she could recognize that magical clothes would be much more of a statement around the Potters, who tended to lounge around in sweatpants and quidditch t-shirts.

She finally settled on a set of periwinkle open style robes that Lady Malfoy had sent her a month or so ago, proclaiming that it was a true tragedy that she wouldn’t be able to properly go shopping for spring robes, and that she had found a few sets while she was out shopping for Draco that she just  _ had _ to buy for Lavinia, and wouldn’t she be a dear and at least try them on? 

They had gorgeous lace peeking out from the sleeves and the hem, and little pearl buttons down the bodice, and a high enough neckline that she could get away with not wearing a blouse under them. She left on the soft grey slacks that she’d already been wearing, but swapped out her heavy oxfords for cream flats. The nicest thing about robes was that there were charms woven right into the fabric that regulated temperature- or there were if one could afford them- and charms to make sure the fabric never got caught under one’s feet, and so on and so on. Even if Muggle clothes were more comfortable at first, they didn't literally look out for one’s needs the way magical clothing could.

By the time she had fixed her hair, redoing a few of the braids that had started to come loose and winding them all into a sort of crown around her head so that it wouldn’t cover the low back on the robes, it was getting a bit too close to six for her comfort.

“Trixy,” she called, grinning when the elf appeared before her. “Could you take me down to the dining room? Or right outside it, I suppose.” Really, she would have to hurry up and learn how to apparate, laws be damned. It was so much more convenient.

There was something about the way they looked at her when she walked in that had her fighting back a satisfied sort of smile. Something about the way James’ jaw tensed seeing the heiress of the House he had rejected strutting through the halls with the clothes and the confidence befitting of her station, something about the way Lily’s eyes had bugged out where Auntie’s wouldn’t, because a woman still surprised at her every move couldn’t really be her mother.

It wasn’t until a few minutes past six that Oliver joined them, in the sweatpants and Chudley Cannons t-shirt she had expected. It only had her sitting a little taller in her seat.

The elves started bringing the food as soon as he took his place at the table, and she couldn’t really tell what it was through all the decorative preparation, but it was delicious enough that she couldn’t particularly bring herself to care.

She let Oliver pull his father into a conversation about quidditch, and she figured it would be better to stay out of it, seeing as she was on her House team, and Oliver was not on his. She believed him when he said he was good at quidditch, by all accounts he was, but the simple fact was that first years were not supposed to be on the teams. Her position was, for all intents and purposes, a punishment, but she did believe he could probably get on the next year, even if he wasn’t as good as he liked to say he was. He was the Boy-Who-Lived after all.

Lily didn't seem to care about quidditch as much as the men in the family, which left them staring at each other rather awkwardly for a moment.

Circe, she had to have some information about Lily Potter that she could use. Just one thing that she could keep up a conversation about.

“Professor Flitwick mentioned you did your mastery in Charms,” she remembered, hoping the likely lack of intelligent conversation gracing the Potter home would leave the women prepared to ramble a bit. “Could you tell me about it? It sounds fascinating.” She may not have had the natural inclination towards charms that Oliver or Daphne had, but she had a very good memory and a good bit of practice pretending to know what she was talking about, and that would have to be good enough.

She wasn’t sure if the excitedly hopeful expression on Lily’s face was because she got to talk about her passion or because her child wanted to know something about her, but Lavinia figured she’d take it either way.

“I mastered in Experimental Charms,” the woman explained. “So that’s-”

“Spell development,” Lavinia filled in, her eyes bright. That was actually really interesting- she hoped she could get something helpful out of knowing someone who studied it. “I’ve been reading about that recently.”

“You have?”

She could feel herself turning a bit pink, but she ignored it. “Just a bit. What sorts of spells did you develop?”

“Healing charms, mostly,” Lily explained. “I didn’t get very many done before I had you and Oliver, though, so most of that’s been put on hold. It takes quite a while, and a lot of rather risky experimental stages to develop a spell, especially one you use directly on the body.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t inherit your skill in charms, but the theory is all truly fascinating,” Lavinia told her. “I hadn’t realized how complicated spell creation could have to be, though of course it makes sense- otherwise we’d have a million unregistered spells every time some random witch got bored enough to play around with Latin.”

“Oh, that would be quite the world,” Lily agreed, and her laugh seemed somewhat real for a moment. “Though, in some ways it would be pretty nice.” Lavinia looked at her curiously, motioning for her to continue. “I was a Healer,” the other woman told her, “in the war, of course, they needed just about everyone to pitch in. It would have been nice to be able to heal any wound immediately if you knew Latin well enough to string the words together.”

“I suppose,” she agreed. Really, what did it say about her that her first thoughts had been more along the lines of how such a power could be used for evil? “I know Lady Malfoy did the same for a bit. She told me about it when…” she trailed off, noticing the silence that had dropped on the room. Right. Lady Malfoy would have been healing their opponents. 

“Yes, well, moving on from  _ that _ ,” James laughed, and Oliver laughed along with him, and Lavinia tried to ignore the cutting sarcasm laced through his words. “Why don’t you two tell us how school’s been going? We’ve gotten Ollie’s letters, of course, but I’m sure there’s more we haven’t heard yet.”

“It’s  _ school _ ,” Oliver said, as if that explained everything.

“It’s been lovely, thank you,” Lavinia told them, sending a slightly condescending look at her brother. “I’ve been quite busy of course, what with my muggle courses as well, and with quidditch practices.” Alright, so maybe that was a bit of a low blow, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “But all the material is really interesting, and it’s wonderful to be able to learn more about the magical world.”

“Quidditch?” James asked, and she could tell he was trying very hard not to look so intrigued, but it wouldn’t have worked on a normal person, let alone her, with years of deciphering her tutors’ vague expressions.

“Yes, sir,” she confirmed. “I’m the reserve seeker for my House team, but seeing as our seeker has a tendency towards accidents, I’ve gotten to play both of our games so far.”

“You mean you’re putting him in the hospital wing so you get to play,” Oliver snapped.

She adopted a taken aback sort of expression, somewhere between horrified, confused, and straight up offended. She had only put him in the hospital wing  _ one _ of the times.  _ Honestly _ . The other was all Marcus. “I would never do such a thing,” she denied, keeping her voice even. “Nor would I presume to overestimate my own rather novice skill to be greater than our practiced team member.” Everyone knew Higgs was a God awful seeker. “But of course, I am honored for the opportunity to represent my House, so I do what must be done.”

“Slytherin, eh?” James asked, shaking his head. “Merlin, you must be miserable. I wouldn’t have made it a week around those Snakes.”

That was her opportunity, her opportunity to shrug it off and play along.

She would be damned before she took an easy out like that.

“Oh I quite like it actually,” she replied, keeping her voice pleasant as she served herself a bit more asparagus. “It’s always nice to be around other similarly ambitious people.”

“You have a lot in common with them, then?” Lily asked, pursing her red painted lips.

“We’re teenagers at magical boarding school.” Her voice was flat, but she wasn’t sure what else to be. “I’m sure I’d have a lot in common with anyone.”

“I’m sure you love hanging out with the baby Death Eaters,” Oliver commented, rolling his eyes.

“ The son shall not bear the sins of the father ,” she said through clenched teeth, and it was harder to keep her voice even than it had been. Colleen’s grandmother had quoted a passage to her along those lines a few years ago, after she had explained why she lived with her aunt. She was a deeply religious woman, one who had some verse to recite for every occasion, and while Lavinia tended to be more than a bit skeptical of it all, especially since she knew herself to be a witch, she did appreciate that specific one. “You may have better luck winning friends and influencing people if you judge them by their own actions, Oliver.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re making friends with the children of the people who tried to kill us in the war,” James told her, frowning and gesturing at her with his fork. “The people who almost got your brother killed that night. People who stand  _ for _ everything this family stands  _ against _ .”

“The children of the people you killed. War leaves very few innocents, sir, but the children will always be among them.” 

His speech had her heart sinking into her stomach, and not particularly out of any sort of anxiety, just that sort of disappointment and numbness of giving up. She couldn’t even find her anger anymore, she just couldn’t stop thinking of the Carrow sisters. They’d been some of her worst tormentors at the beginning of the year, though they had backed off after they realized the Potters were shunning her, too. 

They were being raised by a family friend of a family friend, she’d been told. They had been with their aunt and uncle until they were sent to Azkaban when they were toddlers, but while their aunt and uncle had been Death Eaters, their parents hadn’t. No mark, no knowledge or support or anything else. But they’d been related to them, and that was enough, and it had been James Potter who killed them.

Lavinia hadn’t even been able to find it in herself to be upset at them for hating her. If someone hurt Auntie, she doubted she would rest until their entire bloodline was exterminated.

She had ruined the atmosphere a bit, but she refused to acknowledge it, instead simply going on with eating her dinner and pretending everything was normal, hoping they would look like the irrational ones if they started a fight.

Eventually Lily roped Oliver into telling her about his friends and Gryffindor House and if he was studying for exams, and so on and so on.

And that was really what defined her time with the Potters. Arguments started, but they never ended. They just hung in the air, building up and up until it was stifling for her, and she had no idea how it felt for them. Their lives just sort of… went on. James wasn’t really even trying to keep up any sort of dialogue with her, and while Lily occasionally would, she let it drop as soon as her son or husband wanted her attention, and it wasn’t as though there was a whole lot to talk about.

She couldn’t talk about her muggle friends, because that meant talking about Auntie, and she refused to get into that conversation, she couldn’t talk about her magical friends other than the twins, because she’d already tried to get into that conversation and it went nowhere. She practiced the sabbats where they openly protested the concept, she worn green and silver, and even worse she  _ liked _ it, and they simply weren’t ready to understand or accept that.

If she couldn’t talk about her life, and she had very little to say when the Potters told her about theirs, they didn’t end up having much in the way of conversation at all.

It was all utterly unsatisfying, was really it. They couldn’t get along for more than a few moments, but there was no blowout confrontation either. There was no closure to their fights, none of the screaming and anger and that feeling of being so painfully alive and raw that she couldn’t help but want. It just built up and  _ itched _ , and she was glad she tired herself out in the morning with dancing and defense practice, or she would have started breaking things.

She fell asleep at the piano that first night, and woke up in her bed the next- courtesy of the elves, she supposed. It was reassuring to know that there was still someone in the Manor looking out for her.

And she tried, she really did, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She invited Oliver to come flying with her and toss around the quaffle, but she was better on his old broom than he was on his new one, and he ducked out after barely an hour with a glare, leaving her watching awkwardly, a hundred feet above as he slammed the door behind him. She went riding with James, and it was almost fun, even through all the stories about Oliver, since she had figured out that James hadn’t really ridden the horses in the stables in years- he rode as a child, but then he and Lily had moved, and Oliver had never had any interest- so he seemed hesitantly excited to have someone to ride with again. Then, somehow, her riding at Malfoy Manor came up, and the moment was ruined again, and suddenly he was ranting about how her new Dark friends put Oliver in danger and gave the family a bad name, and so on and so on.

She’d realized she’d hit a bit of a jackpot with Lily once she had noticed that she had a severe deficit of intellectual discussion with family members, but there would always be a wall there between them, a wall of  _ even if you’re being somewhat pleasant now, you’re still the woman who dumped her less famous child on her estranged sister and then ripped her back away. _

So, by the time she was  two days in, she had already decided that it was the longest week she’d had, possibly ever.

She wrote Draco and Daphne, nearly every day, and between that and her homework, magic and muggle alike, along with researching rituals to reanimate a soul, she kept herself busy enough not to have time to dwell on where she was and what she wasn’t doing with her family. 

She checked the library as well, to see if the Potters may have had anything that could have held the answer, or at least a hint at the answer, to her problem concerning Not-Quirrel, but they didn’t even  _ have _ a section for dark magic, and James had caught her looking through the section on magic that wasn’t nearly as light as the rest and been quite upset, so she hadn’t tried again.

They had a few books on thread runes that looked interesting, at least, if she ever had time to pick that back up, and she’d gotten James’ permission to take them back to school with her, though he’d looked through them  _ very _ carefully to make sure there was nothing questionable in them. The constant doubt and distrust was quite possibly the worst part about staying with the Potters.

She shook herself out of her thoughts as she slipped back inside, leaving her grass covered boots at the door for the elves to clean and take to her room, rather than tracking mud all over the house. She’d been out riding again, since it was one of the only things to really do around the Manor, and since she really was going to miss the horses.

They would have to be at King’s Cross for the ten o’clock train, but knowing the reporters Oliver would have to deal with, they were planning to be there by nine. Lavinia wasn’t even sure what there was for reporters to ask him as it was- he wasn’t involved in… anything, to her knowledge. He wasn’t even the Heir of House Potter. Nothing all that special was happening in his life that wasn’t happening when they bothered him on Yule break or before school started. 

She would have to deal with that sort of scrutiny one day, she reminded herself, thinking back to everything Lady Woodward had taught her about speaking to press. But she would be asked about things she was actually doing, especially once she took up her seats on the Wizengamot. 

She would be ready, she promised herself. When it mattered, she would be ready. And nothing would be able to stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! Did you miss me? Hopefully you didn't miss me seeing as I've been posting a new fic, Darling, Dead and Wounded, which is a total guilty pleasure, but there's already 25k words up, and I have a bunch more pre-written. You should all go check it out!
> 
> But I'm back in the groove for this fic, so updates should be getting more regular. On the other hand, school starts in a couple weeks, and then I'll be slammed again. Ah well, let's hope for the best.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!! I hope it was appropriately awkward without being too bad- the Potters were working very hard to seem like good parents, they're just not actually good at it. Also I gotta say, every interaction between her and the twins is soooo fun to write, even if this one was pretty short. The next chapters are (hopefully) gonna have a lot more of the real action between her and Tom, so get ready!! Please let me know what you thought- comments are writing fuel!!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i went out for a pack of cigarettes and disappeared for six months. what can i say, it's the one trait i inherited from my dad. anyway.
> 
> ~Shockingly enough, it turns out to be quite difficult to wrestle with world-changing decisions as a thirteen year old. Everybody needs cryptic advice, and Tom just wishes his brain would listen to him.~

“Dad?” 

“Yes, dear?” Lord Parkinson peered at his daughter over his glasses, resting the copy of  _ The Daily Prophet _ on the table, a drooping corner threatening to fall into his coffee cup if he so much as jostled the table, but he wasn’t an easily ruffled man.

Pansy fidgeted slightly, twisting her hands awkwardly in her soft robes in a way she rarely let herself do around others. She could feel the anxiety tugging at her stomach, but there were things that had to be said, and things that had to be done, and if there was one thing a daughter of a noble House knew, it was how to do what had to be done, regardless of just how much she did or didn’t want to. 

“Things at school…” she trailed off, wincing internally before starting over. “There are things I haven’t put in my letters.” There. That was properly vague. “Things I can’t- or at least shouldn’t- be telling anyone about. Especially you, not yet at least. Not with everything.”

She had his full attention now, and as much as she knew he loved her, it was rare for the man to give his full attention to  _ anything _ . The war had left him a bit scattered, even as he remained sharp as a tack. He was frowning, but it was the worried sort, not the angry sort, and she would have breathed a sigh of relief if she wanted him to think she was a bit less serious than she was.

“Are you in danger?” was his first question, and Merlin if it didn’t hurt that he even had to consider such a thing, much less jump to it at the first sign of complication.

“There are… risks, Dad, ones I’ve chosen to take,” she told him carefully, meeting his eyes over the long dining table. “There are things going on at school that I can’t explain- won’t explain- and I’ve gotten more deeply involved than I intended. But no, I don’t believe myself to be in immediate danger.”

“You aren’t one to speak of things unspoken simply for the sake of it, little flower,” her father told her, and she almost smiled at the childhood nickname he had for her. “If there’s something you need, you need not waver before asking, not here.”

“What was He like?” she asked suddenly, her voice in danger of cracking. There was no questioning who “he” was. “Before- before everything- what was He like?”

They rarely talked about the war, really. She knew her father’s positions on the world, he’d never attempted to hide them, but there were those who could barely make it through a conversation without bringing up the power they’d held in the old regiment, and there were those who were closed off entirely hold nightmares and the occasional story or outburst that no one knew how to predict. The latter were typically the most loyal of His followers, she’d learned, and her father had confirmed it. If you truly knew the power you’d held, if you still had the memories of the precarious ways you’d dangled hundreds between life and death, you didn’t have to brag. If you didn’t only fear but  _ respected,  _ or even  _ loved _ the man you followed, you held that close to your heart.

So as much as she knew of his past and his views from helping him through his terrors as a child and sitting in on the political training he’d given Andrew for years even before he’d started offering it to her, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d outright asked about the Dark Lord. But some things had to be done.

“He was… intoxicating,” he answered finally, his words slow and carefully chosen, and he looked right through her in a way she recognized quite well. She wrinkled her nose at his word choice, and a soft chuckle snuck through his lips. “I mean no euphemism, dear. He was powerful, and not in the way of most powerful men or women. If you met him, before that is, no part of you would even begin to deny that he deserved that power, and a person like that draws you, in a way that can be quite addictive.” He sighed almost wistfully, and, sweet Circe, that wasn’t a word she would often use to describe her father. “He had such a vision, my dear, it would astound anyone. He would speak of a perfect world, and one couldn’t help but believe him.”

“And he was- he was smart? Like truly clever?”

“The most so,” he agreed. “He was a genius, and I don’t say that lightly. He was charismatic, certainly, but even more than that, he thought ten steps ahead, always, and Merlin was it an honor to ever see him just  _ think _ .”

“And you believed in him. Really, truly believed in him, in his abilities?”

His frown returned. “Of course. Pansy, what on Earth is inspiring such questioning?”

“If you had a way to bring him back, would you do it?” She could see him about to make some exclamation, so she interrupted before he could. “I need an answer, Dad, I just need to know. If you could bring him back, would you?”

“There’s a lot more to that question than you can see,” he told her honestly, and somehow managed to make such a phrase into the furthest thing from condescending. He’d seen horrors she couldn’t even imagine, and she trusted his judgement. “There would be a risk, I’m sure, of bringing back only the husk of a man who remained when his sanity betrayed him. That man would bring the world down around him, but darling, Gods help me, I would let him.”

Pansy preferred to be a blunt sort of person on principle, right to the point and with little pleasantry or performance hiding her self-serving instinct. Just like there were some questions that had to be asked, things that had to be done and had to be known, there were risks that one had to take, and threats that one had to bank on being bluffs, but there were also times when prioritizing one’s self didn’t allow for any risks, and that was something one simply had to accept.

The fact was that her father’s dedication scared her, just a bit. However, she didn’t believe she would fall for such charms and such promises of which her father spoke, though a part of her recognized the self-importance in such a statement, in claiming that she, at not-quite-fourteen, would be able to resist what her father and hundreds, thousands, of others could not. And yet, when she thought of addictive power, of a vision so clearly imagined that there was no room for even a shadow of a doubt, she couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t the Dark Lord she was imagining.

She made her excuses and left almost immediately after her father’s admission, as such a thing required thinking on, and she simply wouldn’t be able to do that if she was to be pestered with questions, only ensuring a vow of discretion from him before she was on her way. It wasn’t as though she had doubts in what she and her friends were doing per se. From the perspective of purely her own self-interest, there would be no repercussions. Either they didn't find a solution, and the Dark Lord would find another without ever knowing they were involved, or they’d fail, and either the same result would occur or else something would go terribly wrong and there wouldn’t be enough of him left to be properly wrathful, and neither hurt her in any tangible way, or even changed anything. 

If they succeeded though, if they brought him back to life, gave him his body back, returned him to his former glory regardless of what Evans wished to imagine would happen… Merlin, she could only imagine how they’d be rewarded, how they’d be  _ honored _ . Her father’s concerningly complex faith would never be questioned, her family’s status restored, her own place in the world even with no title awaiting her would be solidified and unparalleled in its security. She could imagine nothing greater. The same could happen for Draco as well, something she knew he dreamed of more than anything, and with opportunities like that, the Dark Lord’s looming insanity would have to be a risk she would be willing to take. It was simply a matter of her level of investment, and she would simply have to resign herself to the fact that it was growing steadily by the minute.

_______

  
  


Tom was currently experiencing a very strange thing, an unfamiliar one as well, one that pulled at his chest and sat in the back of his mind like a dog waiting at the door for its master to return home. It followed him around as he spent his days as busy as he could force himself to be, trying to figure out what Dumbledore had cooked up to hide the stone, trying to plan lessons for the one class he actually taught- Quirrell could do the rest of the lesson planning himself, honestly. Tom didn’t possess people so he could do their jobs for them. He even pulled back out one of his old grimoires to see if he could figure out any of his half-finished spells, but nothing could make that little feeling go away.

He found himself looking over at the chair that Miss Evans had effectively claimed as her own whenever he stayed up to read something interesting or thought of something he thought would get a reaction out of her, as though he expected her to be there reading one of his books and balancing her teacup in a move that appeared to defy gravity, despite knowing full well she was away on break. He’d grown accustomed to her presence, as their twice weekly lessons often ended up being three or four times a week as of late, and, he had to admit to himself, he was becoming a bit attached. 

It wasn’t part of the plan, he wanted to grouch, and would have, had he had less dignity. He was supposed to sneak into Hogwarts in the back of the head of one of the Professors, find out how to get the stone, actually get the stone, possibly eliminate the Boy-Who-Lived if he had the time, and then get the hell out and leave teaching to those Dumbledore was actually willing to hire. It was ridiculous, really, that Quirinus Quirrell could get the Defense post and he couldn’t. But that simply wasn’t the point. He had never even thought about the sister. His informant explained that Oliver Potter was the only one who appeared to fit the description of his future downfall, he hadn’t thought twice about the other child in the nursery. Besides, he really didn’t too highly of his state by the end of the war; it was horrendous and mildly humiliating. 

But then he’d actually met her, and seen the way her eyes lit up when she figured out a new spell that he was certain she knew wasn’t looked upon kindly by the school or the law, and heard the amused sort of spite in her voice when she cast curse after curse until they hit, or offered her theory on an offensive technique, and when he got to be the one who brought out that calculating fascination when he taught her something she hadn’t known before and she had the perfect questions in mind. 

Above even that, he could feel the power in her magic, and the depth of the stores of magic behind them that she wasn’t even utilizing, and he saw a girl left in the dust by the Light thriving in Slytherin the way he hadn’t gotten to until his last years of school, and he saw himself, and now suddenly he was teaching classes and offering private lessons and forgetting why he was there in the first place.

She was the shiniest thing he’d ever laid eyes upon, and dammit he was starting to  _ care _ .

He shook off the awful feeling as best he could and returned to the task at hand. The Philosopher’s stone didn’t make one immortal sheerly by possessing it, contrary to popular belief; there was an extremely complex ritual potion one had to brew and then drink, and all information regarding the rituals was conflicting, complicated, and in a strange mix of French and Latin written five hundred years prior. His goal, before he’d gotten sidetracked, was to have the damned thing translated in its entirety before he worried about actually getting the stone itself, as it really wouldn’t do to be on the run with the stone and no assurances as to his immortality.

He’d spent twelve years almost dead, and it was an enticing possibility to have full assurance that he would never have to worry about such a thing again. It was a damned shame he couldn’t force himself to prioritize properly. 

He could feel his plans moving about in his mind like gears turning steadily against each other as he imagined futures in which he had more than a potion that would leave him stuck as an incomplete man for the rest of eternity and in which he didn’t have to rely on the incompetency of an aging wizard and his prepubescent savior in order to continue on with his life, and he began to realize that a good portion of these plans required the involvement of one Lavinia Evans Potter, in all her glory. Not particularly worth entertaining, he decided, but  _ Merlin  _ would it be interesting to see whatever happened to the girl. And Hell if it wouldn’t be worth it to sway her to his side. 

The fact of the matter, however, was that the Light was beginning to mend itself from the war. He was proud of the depth of the damage he’d caused to the movement, as it had taken a dozen years to even really begin trying to heal from his impact, but that didn’t change the dangers posed by a powerful and united front. It was why Slytherins had the codes they did in public; it was near useless to begin a feud with a single Slytherin when the rest would join in, and suddenly it was a full blown war with no clear motivation, all perpetuated by the side that believed themselves righteous. It was the most effective way to keep everyone safe, as long as everyone was in on it. Unfortunately, it took quite a number of years for the rest of the House to realize the vulnerable position they had created for themselves by properly shunning him, but even they’d come around eventually, not that he’d felt a need to come around to join them. 

If the Light properly united under a new leader, one to whom they felt even half the devotion that his followers had felt to him at the start of his reign, he’d be in for a lot more of a fight than he’d planned on. He was entirely opposed to letting any of his followers see him in his current state, reduced only to barely a step up from a ghost, a wayward spirit depending on a weak soul like Quirrell to get him through. It would be humiliating, not to mention counterproductive in its entirety, as it would do nothing to reassure or rouse his forces, and he certainly would have little luck actually striking  _ fear _ into them in such a form. 

And,  _ Merlin _ , he had barely begun to start thinking about how to organize. He’d been mainly staying in the present moment, focusing on his immediate goals, but long term? His following had fallen apart, and worse than that he could barely blame them- not that he  _ wouldn’t _ blame them, only that deep down he understood. No, there would be a lot of torture when he returned to his ranks, he would just… laugh a little less through it all. Maybe. 

He would have to figure out his approach as well. Clearly a single-fronted attack wasn’t going to work, unless he could get Oliver Potter out of the picture immediately, and there was no way to kill a thirteen year old that wouldn’t just about ruin any questioning loyalties people felt to him. There was no sympathetic way to kill a child, not to the public. He would have to figure out another way. But he couldn’t do any of that looking like  _ this _ . He had to get a body and full confidence in his immortality before he could move forward, and he needed to move forward soon. Which meant no more distractions.

The very object of his distraction, however, found herself equally preoccupied with him, though not in nearly such a positive light. Lavinia was thrilled to be back to Hogwarts, thrilled to get away from the Potters and see her friends again, but if she’d realized anything during her week at the Potters’ estate, it was that she would never be able to prepare properly- for anything, really- if the bloody Dark Lord was still hanging around the school causing trouble. 

“Daphne?” Lavinia spoke up, looking up from her essay as she dotted her final i’s and crossed her final t’s. “Would you like to join me for a walk around the castle? If I stay here a moment longer I fear I’ll be compelled to scour all my books a fourth time, and I don’t believe that would be particularly productive.”

The blonde girl narrowed her eyes teasingly. “Will you proofread my History essay if I do?”

“I’d do it anyway, but sure, if that’s what will convince you,” Lavinia agreed with a laugh. 

Daphne’s smile was smug as she shut her textbook with a snap. “In that case,” she replied, adjusting her school robes over her blue nightgown, “I would love to. Where shall we go, darling?”

“The old mirror room?” Lavinia suggested. “I have been curious about what else is up there.”

“Pansy’s been saying the same thing,” Daphne told her. “Even without the mirror, it was still quite a great room stuffed to every side with all manners of memories. I’m sure we could find something interesting. Shall we invite her along, do you think?”

“Why not,” she decided. “It’ll be great fun- we’ll have a girls’ night out, braid each other’s hair and everything.” Such a thing would require her hair to not already be in an extravagant knot of braids and twists so that one couldn’t get to any loose strands if they tried, but the sentiment remained.

The three Slytherins reached their intended location quickly, as they had long since figured out the quickest way to get to the seventh floor from the dungeons, and paced the hallway quickly so as to be as careful as possible to avoid making any noise that could get them caught.

“Merlin, I hope the room has lights this time,” Pansy grouched, adjusting her wrap around her shoulders and pushing her glasses up her nose as she turned around the second time. “It’s a real pit in there, honestly. It makes me wonder if anyone’s been up here in years aside from us and Dumbledore the once. I mean, who would put up with such junk?”

“We have been,” Daphne pointed out, and Lavinia had to stifle a laugh at Pansy’s following pout.

“And I can’t say I understand why we do,” she sniffed. 

“Perhaps it’s because-” 

Lavinia cut off Daphne’s sarcastic response before she could infuriate Pansy any further. It simply wouldn’t do to make any sort of commotion in the otherwise silent corridor. “Let’s just get inside, shall we?” She pushed the door open, and the hallway was flooded with unexpected light that had them squinting as their eyes adjusted, casting long shadows behind the girls and onto the dark stone behind them. “I think you got your wish,” she couldn’t help but point out, but a part of her worried. “Do you think someone’s already in there?” she whispered, trying to look into the room without standing too much in the doorway.

“They would have heard us already if they were,” Pansy dismissed, “so it’s not really much of an issue, I think. I, for one, am quite curious as to who or what is in there lighting up an empty room just like I wanted it to.”

She promptly pushed the door the rest of the way open and walked in confidently, Lavinia and Daphne sharing a look before following her. They found no people inside, but they did find little orbs of lights floating around the room near the ceiling, golden light like a perfect sunset illuminating broken furniture and knick knacks of centuries long past as far as the eye could see. 

“How come  _ your _ wishes come true?” Daphne complained. “We can use charms for light; what  _ I’d _ like is one couch that isn’t snapped in two.”

She barely finished her sentence before a cream velvet settee slammed into the back of their knees, knocking Daphne and Pansy back onto the seat and triggering some instinct Lavinia hadn’t quite realized she had that got her to throw herself backwards and flip over the couch, her nerves forcing her breath into shallow puffs. 

Pansy appeared to have adapted quite quickly to the situation or at least clearly wished to give off that image, pulling her legs up beside her and getting comfortable within seconds, but Daphne wasn’t nearly so calm, and Lavinia feared she’d hyperventilate if they didn’t do something.

“So, I take it this… isn’t normal behavior for magical couches,” she chose to check, torn between honest curiosity and the hope that she’d get a laugh out of her friend. “I mean, I can’t say I’ve much experience outside two houses and Hogwarts, but it seems a bit aggressive for normal furniture.”

“No, it most certainly is not. I wonder…. Lights off!” Daphne ordered suddenly, and they were plunged into the darkness they were accustomed to. “My aunt mentioned this once,” she breathed in awe. “There’s a room in Hogwarts that only appears to those who need it. The room can appear as whatever the person needs or wants, and it’s where things go when they disappear, whatever that means. She always figured it was just a story.”

“Because that’s what Hogwarts really needs,” Pansy added sarcastically. “Even  _ more _ mystery and danger. Three-headed dogs and staircases that actively try to throw you off just aren’t cutting it anymore.” Lavinia could practically hear her eyes roll. “Lights  _ on _ .”

“Can it really give you anything?” she asked.

“How are we supposed to know, Evans? Greengrass was vaguely aware of the room’s existence and now we’re supposed to know its limitations? No-” and here her lips curled into a devious smile “-we’re simply going to have to test it.”

Within a minute, they’d asked the room for a blackboard and begun writing lists of what they could and could not do. They could do magic in the room, they could wish for things to both appear and disappear, and for the size and shape of the room to change. They couldn’t get the room to give them food, nor could they take anything out of the room that was not in it originally- it appeared the broken furniture they’d seen made up the actual physical contents of the room, but the rest was magical and trapped inside. The room also grew quite confused when given conflicting requests in a short order. It was fascinating.

Daphne’s well-timed  _ Tempus _ charm reminded them that it was nearing midnight, and they grudgingly agreed that it would really be best not to be too dreadfully tired during Herbology the next morning. There were too many things in that greenhouse that could sting or bite or stab or otherwise attempt to maul you if you weren’t careful.

Lavinia couldn’t help but return the next night after her housemates were asleep, pacing outside the door and wishing very carefully for a classroom instead of the antique shop hit by a tornado that it typically resembled. 

“May I please see the books on reanimating a soul?” she asked of the room, barely bringing her voice above a whisper, and a small bookshelf rippled into existence against the wall in front of her. She knelt to read the titles, pulling out  _ The Secrets of the Darkest Artes: Uses and Dangers of Soul Magicks _ and  _ Souls and Those Who Do or Do Not Possess Them, _ figuring they’d be a good place to start. She slipped into one of the desks, placing the books neatly in front of her so she could get started. She just couldn’t bring herself to open the covers.

She stared at the spines for a good half hour, unable to escape the realization that what she was trying to do was  _ real _ and would have equally real effects. It wouldn’t be hypothetical, not once those books were cracked open. There would be no more room for denial. 

She finally went to bed, asking the room to remember which books she had pulled out, though she wasn’t sure if it would be able to do it or not, but she couldn’t sleep that night, staring up at the dark green canopy over her bed but barely seeing it at all. She needed to talk to someone, and she was pretty certain she knew just the person. 

Lady Miera had been delighted by her owl, and even more delighted by her request to speak face to face, suggesting communication by floo, a use of floo which Lavinia had never heard of and still couldn’t say she fully understood, but had to admit was quite clever. With just a bit of powder and the right address, she could simply kneel by the fire, a comforting warmth in the still-chilly dungeons, and she would be able to see Lady Miera on the other side. The more pretentious form of video-calling, she thought, not that she would voice such a thing.

“My Lady!” she exclaimed as soon as her tutor’s fact appears in the fire. “I’ve missed you.”

“Lavinia, darling!” the woman greeted with a grin. “It’s been far too long since we’ve spoken. You simply must tell me how you’re finding Hogwarts. Is it everything you imagined? Your letters left much to tell.”

Lavinia felt a small pang of guilt. She really had meant to write her tutor more, but between all her studies and all the letters she already had to keep up with- Auntie, all her muggle friends, Aunt Narcissa- she had let herself forget. “Hogwarts is lovely,” she said instead of an apology, knowing Lady Miera would dismiss it as it was. “And Slytherin even more so. I’ve gotten to make some wonderful friends, and the rest of the House has warmed up to me as much as they can, and the code makes it impossible to fall victim to anything too awful.” She sighed. “I don’t think I’d fully realized just how different the world would be here; I really couldn’t be more grateful for all the instruction I’ve received. I couldn’t imagine getting here with no preparation.”

“I’m quite sure you’re handling it all with dignity,” Lady Miera told her airily, and Lavinia could hear the smug amusement seeping through her tone. “I’ve heard a bit of talk about you, love. Nothing much as of yet, but you know how people love to gossip. I’m really quite proud.”

She had to admit her heart soared a bit as she ducked her head to hide her proud flush. “Thank you, milady, I only aspire to deserve your praise,” she replied primly. 

She was pretty certain that Lady Miera actually rolled her eyes at that. “Tell me about your friends, darling,” she ordered, only looking more smug.

“I mentioned Draco, right? Draco Malfoy?” Lady Miera nodded. “Well, we’ve stayed quite close since meeting while doing our school shopping, and I even found out that Lady Malfoy is a distant relative through the Black line which is lovely. He already knew most of the other Slytherins, too, so that’s been quite helpful really. There’s only five girls in my year, and apparently that’s quite large-” She cut off at Lady Miera’s look. 

“Slytherin always has been the smallest House,” she told her. “It’s got a questionable reputation, one that’s only gotten worse since the war began- it’ll have far less effect as you get older of course, but few people particularly want their children there. My year was only three girls and four boys.”

“Goodness,” she said with a frown. She hadn’t been blind to the size differences, of course, but she hadn’t really known just how far back it went. “Gryffindor’s huge, too. I think there’s at least thirty in my year alone. Anyway, what I was saying was that I get along wonderfully with two of them- well, wonderfully with one of them, and well enough with the other. Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson. And then a third year, Agatha Selwyn, she’s on the quidditch team with me- I’m reserve seeker, I wrote to you about that- and a fifth year, Marcus Flint. Two Gryffindors as well, Weasleys in fact, but we don’t interact much in public.”

“It would have strange effects on both your reputations,” Lady Miera agreed, not unkindly. “There’s nothing unusual or malicious about inter-House friendships staying a bit more private.”

Lavinia filed that information away for later; mostly, she’d figured it was just a matter of her being who she was above anything else, certainly above it being common to keep all of one’s friendships secret. It was quite a strange way to run a school, to not only have cliques but to have official cliques and accept absolutely no criticism about them.

“You seem to have made some lovely connections,” she continued. “I do hope you won’t lose them; it’ll do you good to have names like those on your side when you accept your ascension. Now, you wrote saying you needed advice, darling. Whatever’s been going on?”

“You taught me about Light and Dark when I was eleven,” she began. “It’s been practically the only thing we’ve talked about these years.”

“The distinction makes up the foundation upon which our entire society rests,” the tutor agreed, her tilted head the only sign of her uncertainty.

“You told me neither was bad, only different. Exclusion, inclusion, discovery, safety, tradition, and progression.” She still had the notes she’d taken during those lessons, tucked into her copy of  _ Pride and Prejudice _ and folded and unfolded so many times the paper was starting to tear. “And so, it would follow, that if one felt… conflicted, as to their feelings on these matters, it would be natural, normal. And not a… a statement of morality.”

“It’s quite exhausting being caught in the middle isn’t it?” Lady Miera mused. “They are positions only you can figure out for yourself, Lavinia, but none is a position without merit. In many ways, they are less positions, even, and more a lens with which we must see the world. Think of the Statute of Secrecy. It keeps us safe. We are not prepared for nor interested in a worldwide war or an open hunt, and so it is wise to stay unnoticed. However, it also means we are shutting ourselves into a small community, and that can be dangerous as well, as one cannot force a population to grow. Neither is a bad or silly opinion, so it comes down to which you see- or have chosen to see- as more important.”

“There are other solutions, if we’re underpopulated or incestuous,” Lavinia pointed out. “We could find a way to let witches and wizards to move more freely between magical countries to bring in new bloodlines and to balance out more crowded communities.”

“Indeed,” she said, and something about her tone seemed more calculating than Lavinia was used to, and she already doubted the woman knew how to speak without at least a hint of calculation. “Then, it seems at least, you would lean towards exclusion. I would tend to agree. A community that is so open that it can no longer be defined is one that has lost its purpose. I’ve seen your magical tendencies as well, and I’m sure they veer on the side of discovery, correct?” she teased. “You would rather learn about all branches of magic and be held to the understanding that you’ll use them responsibly rather than never learn of them at all.”

Lavinia thought back to the spells she’d been learning during her duelling lessons. “Definitely.”

“And you’ve seen the ‘progress’ we have in this world, I’m sure.” She shook her head bitterly. “Just because one is moving does not mean one is moving  _ forward _ ,” she sighed. “Much of our world could do to learn that.”

“Those are the laws like the ones that wouldn’t let me take up the mantle as Head of my House as a witch,” she checked.

“Correct. Do you remember the others we’ve discussed?”

“The ones that banned the sabbats. And the ones restricting magical creatures.”

“Yes. So what say you, love? Tradition or progression?”

“Tradition.”

“Then I think you’re less conflicted than you’d like to believe,” she said gently, and Lavinia couldn’t help but be reminded of her conversation with Pansy.  _ You can’t be on both sides at once. _ “What’s got you worrying about all this? It’ll still be a few years until you’re dropped into politics, and casual discussion among your housemates shouldn’t have upset you so much.”

“I’m going to do something that could ruin everything.”  _ Right, _ she thought.  _ Lovely place to start. _ “There are risks, but I believe it’s the best option, even if I don’t particularly want to confront the consequences. It’s just all… it’s all so complicated. I’m not even sure how to explain it all properly.”

“Nothing in life is complicated, darling, and you should know that,” Lady Miera dismissed, a response that threw Lavinia off more than she wished to admit. She looked at the woman expectantly when it seemed she had no plans to continue. She sighed. “Everything comes down to three things in the end. What you want, why you want it, and how you’re going to get it. The rest is just technicalities and self-control.”

“Is that not selfish?” Lavinia had to ask, eleven all over again with how nervous she felt. 

Lady Miera smiled softly. “There’s nothing wrong with a little selfishness, darling. Especially in a world as selfish as this one.”

The exchange wasn’t one she forgot quickly, and she found most of her thoughts reformatting themselves into the new formula. She wanted good grades so that she could keep her opportunities open and so she paid attention to the entire Charms lecture and practiced the spells after class even when she’d already mastered them. She wanted to win the next quidditch match because it would help keep up her favor in her House, and so she stopped complaining when Marcus stole her away for practice at all hours of the day and night and even started suggesting additional practices.

The issue with everything with the Dark Lord, however, was that she hadn’t yet determined what she wanted. She planned to get him out of her defense teacher, sure, but that wasn’t really a desire, just common sense. She didn’t particularly want him to gain power, but if he was the man she’d been spending half her evenings with and not the maniacal killer who haunted stories of the end of the war, she wasn’t overly concerned with stopping him either. She was one child; she couldn’t be expected to succeed where an army had failed. 

She wanted things to go the way they were supposed to, she figured. She had a plan for her life, and possessed teachers and trolls and three-headed dogs weren’t supposed to factor in. That was what it really was, she decided. She wanted order in her life, and she would do what it took.

“Can I see my books again?” she asked of the room, her trembling voice loud enough to echo through the room. She cracked open the cover of the first. 

_ Foreword: A Warning _

_ Soul magic is among the most dangerous of the Dart Artes, above mind magic and even blood magic in its potency. To endanger the soul is to endanger the very humanity of a witch or wizard, and it’s not a risk many consider to be worth taking. Even properly performed soul magicks can have secondary effects that splinter the soul itself, drive the witch or wizard to insanity, or even kill them outright.  _

Lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there ya go! lavinia's finally gotten over her internal conflict (well, not really, but she'd like to think she has) and she's ready to either ruin literally everything or make her life a million times easier. maybe both, who knows. definitely not me. i hope you enjoyed the chapter!! comments and kudos are writing fuel, please leave some below! see yall soon hopefully :)))


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rituals, Rumors, and Regular Life

_Meet me on top of the tower at midnight._

_\- Lavinia_

She sent the notes to her friends in the form of tiny paper butterflies- a spell Daphne had taught her after she’d struggled to explain airplanes and their paper forms to her friends. _Made of metal?!_ they’d gasped, appalled. _And they fly without magic?!_ She’d given up quickly.

She had figured out that if she simply made a copy of the book, she still couldn’t take it out of the room, but if she copied the words off the page with the spell they liked to use for quotations in their essays and copied it into her own notebook, she could take the notebook out of the room, and that had worked well enough for her. They were in Astronomy when she found it- there had been a quiz that they’d all finished a bit earlier than most of the class, so she’d had time to read but no way to explain aloud. She’d agreed to dueling lessons that night already, as she knew Astronomy would end far earlier than usual, and she cursed her decision. She would have to be very careful with the journal as well as her words so that Not-Quirrell would catch no hint of the reason behind her nerves. 

He taught her two spells that went together, one to protect her wand, and one to link it back to the holster on her wrist, so that she could call it back at any time. The ward around the wand would keep it from being summoned by magical means, he’d explained, but there was little even magic could do if she was forced into a position where her wand was dropped or hit out of her grasp. It didn’t have to be a holster either, apparently, though she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather use. 

While the protection spell was a simple transfiguration- not a charm, he was quite clear to explain, as a charm would stop being effective once she stopped feeding magic into it, whereas a transfiguration of the very particles around the wand would remain until she reversed it- the linking spell required her blood, though only a drop, and she was reminded of the book she’d been reading. Soul magicks were above _even_ blood magicks. A concerning phrasing. 

He’d explained it quite simply however when she asked, though she was careful not to mention the soul magic she’d been looking into. Blood was incredibly powerful in the magical world, not only because of its connection to one’s very magic, but because of the power _ascribed_ to blood in the magical world. People put so much stock in the meaningfulness of one’s blood, one’s family, one’s life force, that it had as much psychological power as it did magical power when used in a spell. Belief influenced intent, and that was the core of all Dark magic, so it opened up much more potential for danger, even while the individual spells such as the one she used were often quite harmless. 

He was more present during their lessons than he often was, and she didn’t mean so much in the literal sense of that there were two brains inside his head, rather that he seemed less distracted, more prepared to give her his full attention. Normally she’d be quite glad, but he had really chosen the worst possible time to look so closely. If he was more present, she was certainly more jumpy, more keenly aware of his presence as he guided her through the spells, his eyes tracking her every movement as she drew a small blade across her arm, letting the blood soak into her wand holster and drip onto her wand as she cast with her other hand. Of all days, she cursed him, he chose the one when she had just figured out how to either revive or kill him. Just her luck.

When she noticed the clock creeping towards midnight, she faked a yawn and headed back to the Complex. He didn’t have anything specific to dueling he’d wanted to show her, so after he healed her arm and she practiced calling her wand back to her a few times, all of which could just happen in his office rather than any of their usual dueling spots, she’d settled into her chair with a cup of tea and buried her nose in a book on blood magic that he seemed suspiciously happy to loan her, so her false exhaustion came as no real inconvenience. 

He scribbled a note for her, not that she’d ever actually needed any of them, and she found herself almost running on her way to meet her friends. It wasn’t even just excitement to share her accomplishment, really, just relief at finally _knowing_ , finally having one answer out of a million open questions.

“What are we here to talk about?” Pansy asked as soon as Lavinia poked her head over the roof of the tower. 

“I’m sure she’ll tell us if you just wait a moment,” Daphne chided her, moving away from the ladder they used to get onto the roof so that Lavinia would have room to climb off, and shooting a knowing smile at her friend as she settled down beside her.

“I know,” Draco announced, and she could hear the tinge of exhaustion carefully concealed in his joking tone. “There’s another possession- wait, no, Dumbledore is actually a lion under a glamour charm who wants to steal the chandeliers, and we have to reveal this to the public for the good of the school.”

“A lion? You think too highly of him- perhaps a jellyfish?”

“I’m settling on a skunk and that’s my final offer,” he said with a sniff in Daphne’s direction.

“You’re both wrong, it would certainly be a goat,” Lavinia joined, a giggle escaping her lips.

Pansy looked at her long and hard, her lips pursed disapprovingly. “Is this about the Boy-Who-Lived raising a dragon? Because if you made me stay up to talk about something I already know-”

“Oliver’s doing _what_?” she burst.

The other girl sighed. “You're all so behind, honestly,” she complained, but Lavinia could see the smugness behind her scowl that she would get to tell them the gossip. She rearranged her robes around her, covering her legs as she tugged them up beside her so she was comfortable enough to talk for a while. “I overheard a couple of the Gryffs talking about it. Apparently the groundskeeper, whatever his name is-”

“We have a groundskeeper?” Lavinia asked.

“The half-giant,” Draco filled in. “He lives in a hut across the school.”

“Right, him. Do continue.”

“ _Apparently_ , the groundskeeper got ahold of a dragon’s egg, don’t ask me where. Honestly, dragon breeding is illegal, not that I expect that man to know the laws. Anyway, I heard that your brother and his little fan club have decided to help the man raise it.” She sighed. “I hope you take no offense if I say that the world will not lose much if this endeavor goes exactly as expected.”

“Pansy…” she trailed off. The other girl had a point, really- Lavinia had a hard time imagining something more stupid than helping a giant raise a dragon- and it wasn’t as though she was serious. 

“That seems very dangerous,” Draco said. “And I don’t just mean to the giant or Lavinia’s brother- dragons are _big_ . A full-grown dragon could burn down half the school if it really tried. I should really tell Father; I mean, this is quite possibly _more dangerous_ than a three-headed dog. At least that thing was locked up, and, presumably, the whole staff knows about it. And dragon breeding _is_ outlawed by the-”

“Warlocks’ Convention of 1709,” Lavinia finished automatically. She blinked. Where on Earth had she learned that?

“Yeah, actually,” Draco agreed hesitantly.

Dragons, dragons, where had she heard about dragons? _Dragon breeding is outlawed by…_. 

“Give me some time to deal with the dragon problem before you tell your father, please. I think I may know an easier way.”

“If you’re sure."

“Anyway, as… _concerning_ as that news is, that’s not what this was about,” she told them. If she didn’t bring it up soon, she would have fallen asleep before she ever told them. “I found it. I found the ritual.”

She was immediately faced with three identical faces of blank shock.

“It was that simple?” Daphne blurted when Lavinia finally finished explaining how she’d found the ritual, though she quickly covered her mouth. “I mean to say, it’s quite shocking, and a bit frustrating looking back as well, that the answers were right in front of our eyes- right in the room with us- the whole time.”

“It’s wonderful is what it is,” Draco denied. Pansy nodded in support, but said nothing. “It’s been a handful of months. Even the Dark Lord himself hasn’t been able to find himself a body in this time, but we did. Do we need anything for the ritual?”

“I don’t see anything really,” she explained, passing the journal to Daphne so she could look over it as well. “There are cleansing things we’ll have to do before we do the ritual, but I don’t think they look too difficult. We can’t eat for twenty-four hours before-?”

“That’s quite common,” Daphne cut in, noting the confusion in her tone. “There are almost always necessary purifications for powerful rituals. You remember how there were only certain foods we could eat during Samhain, whereas for Yule the food simply had to be blessed and a part set aside for the gods. This one likely goes on the symbolic significance of magic being the only thing in one’s body. It’s often considered to make the magic purer.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” She flushed at the connection she hadn’t made. “Other than that, there’s an incantation in Greek that I’m working on memorizing, and a runic circle. Then there’s a bit I couldn’t quite understand about the intent during the ritual?” she added, turning to Daphne.

“It’s all quite basic stuff,” the other girl dismissed, not looking up from the book as she tracked her finger down the edge of the page. “We just have to focus our magic into the runes and intentions. Rebirth, faith, strength. It’ll be much more draining that Samhain, I would guess. We should practice a few times as a group as well, just on the focus. The hardest part…” she trailed off, and Lavinia could feel her heart speeding up on instinct. 

“What is it?”

“You’re going to have to take lead,” she began. “You’re the one reciting the incantation, and this is, above all, your move on the metaphorical chess board, not any of ours. You’re going to have to be the one to divide the soul.”

“Divide the-”

“It’ll become clearer once the runes are activated, I believe,” Daphne assured her, but she didn’t sound nearly as certain as Lavinia would have liked. “The wording is strange, but as I understand it, it’s not really separate so much as… let your magic recognize which of the presences you’re reviving. Right now, you just need to focus on knowing that incantation back to front. I’ll look over the runic arrangement, and we can all practice channeling our magic. Fortunately, it’s a simple ritual overall, and most of it should really be done for us. I hope.” That would simply have to be enough.

Lavinia didn’t know much in the way of Greek, really. Her Latin tutor had gotten her to cover the very beginning, mostly so she’d be able to identify which English words were derived from which language, so she knew the alphabet, a handful of roots, and the very, _very_ , basics of Homeric grammar. In other words, the passage she was studying was, quite honestly, all Greek to her. 

She worked through the pronunciation first, writing out a transliteration so she could recognize the roots she knew, practicing the actual recitation, and then finally working out what on Earth it meant. According to Daphne, it was less about the exact translation and more about the right power and intent behind the words, so if she figured out that a certain sentence was about separating the two souls, and her intention in the words fit properly, that would be just as effective as figuring out the exact parts of speech for a sentence.

It was hard to remember sometimes, but it would be worth it in the end, that much she knew.

While they were probably rushing spectacularly, they chose a night two weeks later to finally go through with their plans. Lavinia had lessons with Not-Quirrell- the Dark Lord, that was, that night; she wasn’t sure why she continued to call him that in her head now that she knew who he was, but there was no time to hide behind false ignorance now, no getting around her tutor’s real identity when she was getting ready to restore his power. 

Tom had lost track of time a bit in his own right, as he’d gotten a bit too deep into one of his teenage grimoires as he went through to correct and finish the projects he’d only had to leave incomplete because of his age. They were all curses and poisons back then, he recognized, as he used spell creation as a poor man’s type of therapy when he was in school. It was far more effective than any of the psych wards he’d been sent to, and an easy million times more effective than any of the churches, so he’d kept it up for most of his life, though by the time he was out of school and establishing himself in the world, he was also working on other potions and everyday charms or transfigurations he’d wondered about. 

The knock at the door barely inspired a frown, despite his being deep into a project, and instead he simply marked his place in the journal and went to open the door. His student stood waiting in deep green robes and heavy boots rather than her usual pajamas, as she’d suggested another proper duel for that evening, and he went to set his kettle to boil once they’d exchanged their greetings. 

“What are we going to be working on today?” she asked, watching the sugar cubes dissolving in her cup intently and accepting the biscuit he offered.

“I was thinking we could focus on offensive shields,” he told her, watching for what he was sure would be her telltale wide-eyed excitement, but only getting a flicker of frustration quickly covered by a grin. He continued anyway. “There are the usual shields, of course, which I know you aren’t particularly fond of, that simply defend, that are passive in their role in the duel. Offensive shields, however, while less common, are the category of spells that deflect, dispel, or otherwise destroy the incoming attack while playing an entirely active role. It’s a fine line, really, but a proper offensive shield can send a spell back, throw the caster back, or even absorb the very magic that hits it. First, I’m going to teach you-”

Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen her wand in her hand, but he hadn’t expected her to cast a spell. He slumped to the floor, her sheepish expression the last thing he saw.

He woke up first some unmeasurable amount of time later, his eyes barely opening past a squint that already let far too much light in, and he wasn’t even present enough to make any sort of noise. He couldn’t even bring himself to try and take stock of his surroundings.

“It’s been hours,” a voice griped from somewhere behind him, soft enough that he could barely make out the words, especially in his dazed state. “It’s not worth waiting here, we should just go back and come check in the morning.”

“And what if he wakes up between now and then?” Tom recognized the second speaker, he was certain of it, though he couldn’t quite place it. “He could be hostile, or flighty, or both, and I don’t even know which one would be worse.”

“She’s right, though” a third voice piped up. “It’s ridiculous to assume he won’t be affected by the ritual. If he hasn’t woken up by now, it means the magical exhaustion already kicked in, just like it has for us.”

“There’s nothing we can do at this point,” the fourth said. “We wouldn’t be able to stop anything in our current state anyway, no offense.”

“I suppose,” the familiar voice agreed reluctantly. 

They said something else even quieter than the rest that he couldn’t make out even as he strained to hear, and then he heard footsteps retreating and a door clicking shut, and he was asleep within seconds of the silence.

The second time he woke up he was far more comfortable, the cold replaced with a gentle warmth and the silence was replaced by quiet humming, a song he didn’t recognize but sounded pleasant, and, all things considered, it was a rather nice way to wake up, if one was to wake up in an unfamiliar location after being knocked out.

He groaned, rolling off his back to sit up and jolting back as he recognized the several feet of dark hair attached to the humming figure. 

“Miss Evans?” he forced out, and he watched in amusement as she scrambled from where she sat in the corner of the room, her book falling to the floor with a loud echo. She must have been the voice he recognized earlier, he realized.

“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright as she stood to join him where he had awoken. “Merlin, I was so worried something had gone wrong, but it didn’t, you’re alright!”

 _Gone wrong?_ he wondered, but then he looked closer at his surroundings. He shoved off the blanket that had been thrown over him and saw runes painted on the ground around him, Kenaz and Othila and Ehwaz on each side, and he could feel his magic building in his core, but as he looked down at the runic circle around him he didn’t see the body of Quirinus Quirrell that he’d become accustomed to, and with closer observation, he didn’t hear Quirrell sharing their mind either. In fact, if he were being honest, he would almost say….

“What have you _done,_ ” he hissed, pushing himself to his feet and curling his magic into his open palm, as he couldn’t feel his wand- Quirrell’s wand, that was- in the pocket of his robes, forcing her back. He hated the sharp tug in his core when he summoned the magic; magical exhaustion was quite an inconvenience. Fortunately, wandless magic had never stopped coming naturally to him, despite having backed off of it once he gained access to a wand, and he would never stop being grateful both to Lady Magic and to his past self for developing the skill. 

The girl’s eyes were wide but she kept her chin up to meet his eyes as she stood her ground, though her ground had shrunk to barely a square foot in the corner. “Oh, I’m so sorry sir, did you not _want_ a body?” she shot, and he had to admire her nerve, even if it was likely just a fear response. “Forgive me, I can always turn you _back_ into a dying spirit sharing a head with an absent-minded Muggle Studies professor if you’d like. I’m sure this can all be written off as a terrible inconvenience.”

“You are going to tell me _exactly_ what’s happened,” he demanded, seeing his wand on the ground out of the corner of his eye and summoning it to his hand, jamming it into the hollow of her throat and forcing a strangled short of gasp out of her. “Now.”

“November,” she whispered. “I’ve known since November. Something was wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Mine was the only class you taught,” she continued, annoyance creeping into her tone and immediately stiffening in fear. “I mean, every other class, it was Quirrell- normal, stuttering, fearful Professor Quirrell, who probably couldn’t win a duel against a monkey. The upper years all complained about it, the other Houses complained about it, but it was as though my class was being taught by someone else entirely. Not to mention that Quirrell never seemed to remember our lessons, or any conversation we planned to have. In fact, it’s never until his eyes flashed red and his entire demeanor changed that he’d remember anything at all.”

“And you jumped to possession immediately?” It was almost amusing actually. He’d really been banking on the guess that no one would simply assume possession before testing any other theories, or settling for a simple unknown. 

“No. I started by researching Multiple Personality Disorder,” she said matter-of-factly, as though that was exactly what one did when their professor acted strange. “But it didn’t match up very well, and it’s really uncommon in wizards, even more so than it is in muggles. So I started looking up spells that had similar outcomes to Multiple Personality Disorder, and those all pointed me to books on possession, and those all said only a witch or wizard could possess another witch or wizard.”

He’d relaxed his grip by then, and she was talking much more freely. “Sit,” he ordered, conjuring up two chairs, identical to the ones in his- Quirrell’s- office. She curled up in the other, and he couldn’t help but notice the sheer juxtaposition between them. He was somehow still in the heavy dueling robes he’d worn as Quirrell for their lesson that night, and he chose not to think too hard about how, sitting straight in his armchair with his wand out, but she was curled up in her usual seat, wearing only silver satin pajamas with her hair loose instead of its normal elaborate braided updos. She looked like a child, and pointing his wand at her felt a bit too much like pointing his wand at her brother twelve years ago, and Merlin, wasn’t that a realization- his power had been restored by the twin sister of his prophesied downfall.

“Anyway, after that, I started researching everything there was to know about possession, and finally came across a book a few weeks ago that had a ritual for dividing the two people back into their individual bodies. Given that you’ve been here for so _long_ , I figured you probably hadn’t gone the route of magical possession and instead you were a ghost,” she filled in, as if that was any type of clarification.

She said ridiculous things so earnestly he felt like he was going to choke with each new revelation she revealed. Her thought process was clearly extremely straightforward in her mind, but she sounded half mad when she explained it, especially when such recklessness was applied to his very soul. Had he been that overconfident as a teenager? He hoped he hadn’t. 

As her story continued, she grew more and more excited, gesturing dramatically and telling it all as though it were the greatest story or gossip she’d ever gotten to share. 

“So we- Draco, Pansy, Daphne, and I, that is- practiced what we could for the ritual, and I knocked you out during lessons, and I am sorry about that, by the way, and we brought you, or Quirrell I suppose, here, and performed the ritual. We left you here, and we brought Quirrell back to his office before we went to bed, but I was getting a bit paranoid so I came back. And _that_ is what I’ve done,” she threw back at him. “I got you your goddamn body back so I can have a normal bloody year.”

“Do you have any idea what could have happened?” he had to demand, his voice rising with each syllable. “Did you want to become a murderer at thirteen?”

“My lovely twin became a murderer at one,” she retorted, but he could see how uncomfortable she looked at the thought. “Besides, you didn’t die, and neither did Quirrell.” She tilted her head. “You know, aside from trying to kill me for saving your life, you’re much easier to talk to like this.”

“I- what?”

“Well, there’s not two people in there anymore,” she explained, pointing at his head. “That always felt a bit awkward, knowing I was talking to both of you.” She shrugged. “And you’re much prettier now.”

He stared at her blankly, and he watched her face rapidly turning to an almost glowing shade of red as she realized what she’d said. He chose to put her out of her misery before she could attempt to stammer through some correction, as he had no interest in indulging _that_ train of thought. “I do much prefer this form,” he agreed evenly. “I never enjoyed taking on the appearance of someone so… unappealing; it takes much longer to gain anyone’s trust. And it’s stranger still being in a body that isn’t one’s own.”

While he may not have chosen the same words as she had, he did have to admit it was nice to have his own body back rather than a shared one or the distorted snake-like form he’d acquired during the end of the war. No, from what he could tell from the glance he’d caught of his reflection in the window when he’d gone to sit down, he appeared the way he had some time in his twenties or so, which opened up a world of possibilities that he hadn’t considered.

“Why did you care at all?” he asked carefully. “And don’t give me some shit about how you wanted a normal year, that’s not a reason to delve into soul magic.” 

“I _do_ want a normal year,” she insisted, crossing her arms petulantly, and she looked more childish in that moment than he’d seen her before. “I have my own goals, alright, and there is a way things are supposed to go, and this wasn’t it. So I figured out the problem, and I fixed it. And besides, I suppose I didn’t feel quite right letting Quirrell stay possessed while I knew it was happening. And I _suppose_ …” she added in a mumble, “I suppose I rather wanted to help you, too. You’ve been tutoring me half the nights for the past eight months. I thought perhaps I could do something for you this time.”

“You understand that by separating Quirrell and myself, I will no longer be able to instruct you.” She nodded. “You understand I’ll be leaving, then.”

“Oh, I’ll write,” she told with a surprising level of certainty before she caught herself. “Erm, if that’s alright, that is. I suppose you probably can’t say where you’re going. And I don’t actually know your name.”

 _It would be dangerous,_ the sensible part of his mind chided. To tell her anything, to give her free reign to stay in contact, to have owls tracking him at any time at all- it would all be an unnecessary risk, it would be dangerous, it would be mind-blowingly _stupid._

“I’m sure your owl will be able to find me,” his traitorous mouth assured her. He cast a _Tempus._ It was just half past four. “I must be going. I would prefer not to be found on the grounds.” He saw her nod. “And you may call me Tom,” he added on impulse.

“Tom,” she repeated, as though testing the word on her lips, and he saw a hint of a smile beginning to form. “Thank you, Tom.”

His name didn’t seem quite so common from her. “Thank _you_ , Miss Evans.” He was struck by the honesty in his gratitude; there were few times in his life anyone had done… well, anything, for him that he would need to be grateful for, and fewer still that he didn’t mind being grateful for.

He left Quirrell’s wand in the hall, as he would be able to get his own now that he had a body, and though it took a minute to properly orient himself as he hadn’t known which part of the castle he was in, there was only one proper way to go from a room with windows, and that was down. He ended up slipping out of a second floor window in one of the abandoned towers and flying the rest of the way down, though the magical exhaustion left his flight embarrassingly shaky and quite draining. His whole body- _his body_ \- ached from being rebuilt from scratch, and it was really only thanks to the wandless invisibility charms he’d been sure to learn from first year on that he didn’t get caught sprinting to the end of the wards. 

It was strange to leave Hogwarts again, something he hadn’t done since he’d graduated, and even then there was no such sense of finality. He would be back one day, he swore to himself. This wouldn’t be it.

Lavinia was very pleased, she had to admit, as she made her way back to the Complex. She grabbed a pepper-up potion from her room- Aunt Narcissa had sent her back to Hogwarts after Yule with exactly six and a firm instruction not to start up a habit- and there was no way her friends would believe that she had actually slept through the night and not gone back to see what had happened to the Dark Lord. _To Tom_ , she reminded herself. 

She took a seat at the piano, since it was a little late in the season to start up a new knitting project, playing through some of the exercises she’d learned right when she’d started the classes just to give her hands something to do. 

He’d been more sane than she’d expected even, a bit curse-happy but in complete control of his faculties or so it appeared. His eyes were the same deep red they flashed each time he took over Quirrell’s body, which had thrown her off quite a bit at first, as one rarely expects to find themselves stared at by someone with eyes that humans weren’t supposed to have, but she supposed it made sense that it would stay consistent. Honestly, she had trouble imagining the Dark Lord himself with all normal features, looking like just some man who could wander down the street with no one taking notice. _And she had called him pretty_ , she bemoaned. 

She couldn’t imagine going twelve years, almost as long as she’d been alive at all, without having a body. It seemed a miserable existence- watching, always watching, but unable to act. It wasn’t a fate she’d wish on anyone in the world, which, she supposed, was evident from her choice to resuscitate the man who’d once tried to kill her family. Circe, she was sure there was a psychologist somewhere who would love to study her. 

But, honestly, she just couldn’t imagine the man who’d been patiently teaching her to duel for months, who took his sudden reanimation in relative stride and offered to write her letters, maniacally getting half the magical world killed. She had no doubt he was dangerous- she wasn’t _stupid_ \- but he didn’t seem anything like the insane man her friends had described. 

If he started doing something stupid, well. She would simply have to stop him.

Her friends were utterly unsurprised to find her in the common room when they woke up, and once they were all up and dressed, they took breakfast to the girls’ sitting room and she filled them in on what they missed.

“He’s already gone,” Daphne thought aloud. “And you’re not dead, so I suppose he handled the whole thing quite well.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he knows I know who he really is,” Lavinia allowed, and watched as her friends worked out her meaning. 

“Did you mention us?” was Draco’s question, though he couldn’t meet her eyes to ask it. 

“Of course.”

Draco and Pansy exchanged a look that Lavinia decided to pretend she didn’t notice. There was really only so much more she needed to think about her friends craving validation from the man who’d tried to kill her family- she’d already done her thinking until her brain hurt, and she’d already brought the man back, so it wasn’t worth the moral struggle.

“So that’s it then,” said Pansy. “He’s out of Hogwarts, he’s free to do… whatever it is he wants to do now.”

She nodded. “He seemed very present, at least. Quite sane. I don’t see him going out and slaughtering half the world any time soon.”

“Glad to see your standards are so high,” Pansy sniffed, but Lavinia could hear the relief in her voice. 

“So we’re back to normal.” Daphne said with a smile, taking Lavinia’s hand and swinging it back and forth in delight. “We did it.”

That they had.

And sometimes Lavinia regretted it. Because real Quirrell? Was really, really, _really_ boring.

They were the only ones who knew why the first year Gryffindor-Slytherin Defense class was suddenly as useless as the rest of the school had to deal with, and it was a cause for relief in some but a cause for quite a bit of disappointment in others. They no longer cast spells during class, the practical instruction replaced with theory and nothing else, and even that was rambling and confusing and often irrelevant to the actual lesson. They’d taken to trading off class periods so only two of them attended on any given day, and that was really saying something- they didn’t even make a habit of skipping History of Magic, and that was taught by Binns. 

She wondered if perhaps it really _had_ been preferable to have the Dark Lord himself in the school, but there had been no incidents with trolls or three-headed dogs since he’d left, so she had to accept the truth. 

She had been far too distracted to think about the quidditch game that weekend, much less devise anything to keep Higgs from playing, and it appeared Flint had felt the same way, so, for the first time in her life, she got to watch a quidditch game from the stands. It was the game against Ravenclaw, the last game, and, while it was nowhere near as exciting as being in the air with everyone, it was the most fun she’d had in a while.

One of the upper years who had found the kitchens had gotten some of the elves to bring them all food for the game, and Lavinia had gotten one of them to make enough popcorn for her and her friends, as the magical world had apparently not figured out how to pop corn. She’d never seen two people have so much trouble pretending not to like something. Daphne had no such qualms and stole half of Lavinia’s after finishing off her own.

Watching quidditch from _below_ the game was a very strange experience, and a frustrating one as well, as she could see the snitch clearly but the seekers just stared into space. It was nice to get to cheer everyone on, though, to be part of the crowd clapping with every goal and booing the other team. 

They won, though only barely. They had ten points on the Ravenclaw team, as Higgs hadn’t come near the snitch even once during the game, but there wasn’t a keeper better than theirs or chasers better than Marcus and the others, despite the opposing team’s noble efforts. They’d won all three of their games, and that was supposed to be it- they’d win the cup, throw a huge party, and move on with their lives- but Marcus’ grim expression when she went to congratulate him told a different story.

“We’re _tied_ ,” he complained. “It’s not just about who wins the games, though winning gives you additional points; it’s also about how many points you’ve won total and how many points you had more than your opponents when you won. We won all our games, but with smaller margins than the Gryffs, especially this game. So either we stay tied and share the cup, or we have another game. I’ll have to talk to Wood about it. I’m voting for another game.”

“I can totally beat Murphy again,” she assured him. “That boy wouldn’t know a snitch if it flew in front of his face.” He really wasn’t _that_ bad, but he took no chances whatsoever. There was no way to win in quidditch if you weren’t willing to trust your magic a bit.

“I’ll talk to Higgs,” he agreed, huffing a laugh, settling an arm around her shoulders to walk her back to the Complex, where she was sure there would be a celebration, even if they hadn’t won the Cup yet. “Honestly, after what just happened, he’ll probably sit the next game out willingly. Might just take a little encouragement.”

She jabbed her elbow into his side. “Be nice to him.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“I have to make a stop, actually,” she remembered, slipping out his hold. “I’ll be back before you’re smashed,” she added with a cheeky grin. 

“I’m holding you to that.”

It didn’t take long to locate the twins, as they were the only ones attempting to levitate each other into backflips off the Gryffindor stands, but they came down to join her when they saw her waving. “Are you trying to get yourselves killed?” she asked by way of greeting, and they took their places on either side of her, sharing a look before turning to her. 

“Absolutely,” they chorused.

“Something you know a lot about,” Fred added. “After all, here we stand on the very spot-”

“-the hallowed ground-”

“-where you cast off your robes and dove a hundred feet with no broom,” he finished. “Are you really one to speak on safety on the pitch?”

She chose not to dignify that with a response. “Can we speak in private?” she asked. “I have… quite a large favor to ask, I suppose.”

They looked to each other and nodded. “Anything for the princess,” they agreed.

They made their way to their usual meeting place- the Marauder’s hideout, the twins called it- where they’d met and where the twins liked to plan their pranks. Honestly, if they put half the effort into their schoolwork as they did into the studying it took to perfect their pranks, they could easily have been at the top of their year, she thought. But then they simply wouldn’t be them.

“So, what can we do for you, princess?” George asked, pulling her onto the bench between them. 

“You have a brother who works with dragons, right?” Goodness, it felt like such a silly thing to say aloud.

“Charlie,” Fred filled in. “Off in Romania, he is, on a reserve for them.”

“Never understood how he does it, really, but he treats the things like they’re kittens.”

“Always knew he wanted to train dragons,” he agreed solemnly, nodding with his brother. “Merlin, if pranking was a career path, we’d understand him.”

George frowned. “What’s Charlie got to do with anything, anyway?” 

“There are rumors,” she began. “Your little brother and mine- supposedly they’ve taken it upon themselves to raise a dragon with the groundskeeper.”

“Hagrid?”

“If that’s his name.”

“Does it say more about us or them that we’re not surprised?” George muttered.

“Them,” Fred answered immediately, turning to his twin indignantly. “Cease your madness at once, good brother, lest you imply that we, the pranksters of Hogwarts, have in some way damaged our sense of shock. Who would we be if not for our mastery in the element of surprise? What would be left of us?”

“But to be related to one whose antics have perhaps surpassed our own in their sheer ridiculousness- though not in their style or skill, of course,” he assured Lavinia earnestly, “does that not imply a level of _genetic_ stupidity that we should never admit to?”

“You forget we’re adopted,” Fred reminded him. “Mum may say we’re not, but our mischief is unparalleled, and certainly not of the same stock as Prefect Percy or Big-Head Boy Bill.”

“Right you are, my good man.” He turned back to Lavinia. “They’re really trying to raise a dragon? Right here on the grounds?”

“My sources are reliable,” she confirmed. “Look, I just don’t think it’s a good idea to have a _dragon_ here, but I’d also really rather not make any sort of official thing out of it. Do you think you could ask your brother for advice? I hate to ask, really- I don’t know him or anything- but if he knows a way to get the dragon safely _out_ of the school, that would really be wonderful.”

“We can write him,” George told her hesitantly.

“But, knowing Charlie, he’ll want to adopt the thing,” Fred finished.

“I don’t see why that would be an issue,” she said honestly. “I mean, I’m not really sure how he’ll go about _getting_ the thing from the groundskeeper- if he’s the kind of man who wants to raise a dragon in a hut, I don’t see him being a man who’s going to give it up easily. But what your brother thinks is best for it after that is up to him.”

“He’s going to _love_ you,” they told her in perfect unison.

She laughed at that, ducking her head. “That’s sweet, really, but I’d really much prefer if you could keep my name out of all this. I just can’t reasonably be associated with a horde of Gryffindors smuggling dragons all over the globe.”

“A _horde_?” Fred repeated in mock offense. “Is that really what you think of us, princess? Just a few of the many?”

“A Slytherin with a whole _horde_ of Gryffindors at her disposal,” George shook his head. “Godric is shaking in his boots as we speak.”

“And I’m sure Salazar has never been so proud,” she added sweetly. “You’ll write him, then? Before the whole of Hogwarts is burned to the ground?”

“Definitely,” George agreed. 

“We like this place too much to watch it burned,” Fred added.

“I owe you one,” she called over her shoulder as she slipped out of the alcove, leaving them sitting together on the window seat under the conjured light. 

“We’ll hold you to that, Princess.”

As she made the journey back to the Complex, she felt as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and there was a bounce in her step she hadn’t felt in months. No more Dark Lord, no more dragons. She could worry about normal things, like studying for exams and finishing her letters for her friends at home, and that was something she’d missed quite terribly.

She made it back to the common room just in time, Marcus meeting her at the door without stumbling. “Kept my promise,” she said by way of greeting.

“Dance with me,” he told her, grabbing her hand as soon as she’d tossed her robes over a chair and pulling her into the cleared area in the middle of the common room. 

“Marcus, I have things to do.”

“Dance with me, Evans, dance with me,” he insisted with a wide grin, spinning her under his arm with ease. 

She rolled her eyes reluctantly, but she couldn’t stop the smile spreading over her face. “I suppose things can wait.”

“That’s what things are _for_ ,” he agreed earnestly, lifting her by the waist as the music grew louder around them, her shriek of surprised laughter lost in the orchestra. 

“You’re drunk,” she admonished over the noise when her feet were back on the ground, her head still thrown back as she let him spin her around and around again. 

“I’m happy,” he corrected. “Wood agreed to another game, by the way, and Terrence was so humiliated that I just stared at him for a minute and he was half ready to resign, so we’ve good as won the cup.”

Slytherin parties really were the best types of parties, she had to think as Marcus lifted her into the air again and spun her around entirely off beat. They celebrated just as Muggles did in some ways, of course, with the upper years sneaking in far too much firewhiskey and trying to lie and steal and bribe their ways into hangover remedies the next morning and most of the House lounging on the couches to chat and smaller groups in the corners playing games while the middle of the room was cleared for dancing. But they also had traditional music playing through a million tiny magicked speakers that glowed green as their only source of light other than the fires and floated around the ceiling and the corners and tables and the like, playing the different parts of an orchestra so that it felt as though one was right in the middle of a great performance the whole time. 

According to Marcus, they used the ballroom only a couple times a year, as the end of year Slytherin dance was quite formal and always took place in the ballroom, and often if there wasn’t enough excitement around, they’d all find an excuse to throw one earlier in the year as well. His third year had been so painfully slow, he’d told her, that they threw six all-out balls. She was sure their parents simply _loved_ buying them all six brand new sets of dress robes, but she had to admit it sounded wonderful.

Daphne was dancing with one of the Carrow twins and Pansy and Draco were on one of the couches talking with Nott and Zabini, so Lavinia let Marcus monopolize her attention on the dance floor for most of the night, and she got dizzy from just how many times she’d spun in the low lighting, barely able to make out Marcus as it grew late and the fires had died down to embers. When Daphne finally pulled her from the dance floor and insisted they go to bed, she barely had the energy to do anything but agree, letting the other girl drag her from the common room up to the first years’ dorms.

Things were normal- really, truly, delightfully normal, she thought to herself before she slipped off to sleep. Everything was in order, just as it was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, I know, it was almost a month. Sue me. I had a nice 4k chapter done within a couple days but the characters just refused to let me call it a day, so here we are! We got Tom, Marcus, and the twins in one update, though, so I count it as a win. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, and please let me know what you thought! Comments are writing fuel :))))
> 
> Oh, and happy Valentine's Day!!!! <3


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